Promise
by Featheriest
Summary: A story loosely based on the movie Last Of The Mohicans. Uncas/Alice centered. Reviews are welcome.
1. Chapter 1

"Alice?"

"Alice! Are you coming?"

Alice was startled at her sisters question. They were attending a lively tea party, but the last half hour she had let herself slowly subside into a trance-like state of mind, not being able to pay attention to the conversation around her any longer. She was sitting in a gracefully decorated room. Around her, the chattering buzz of Albany's most important ladies, or rather, the spouses of Albany's most influential men. She had not wanted to come to the tea party in the first place, disliking the usual chitchat it required. But Cora, her older sister, had been unrelenting. If they wanted to meet the new world's society, they simply would have to attend, she had explained. Besides, she had added, papa wouldn't have had it any other way, as to mollify her sister.

Alice rose from her elegant chair. She smiled politely at the woman sitting next to her and walked towards her sister. The muscles in her shoulders tightened as she sensed the gaze of many on her back as she did so.

Cora already was standing in the vestibule near their host, lady Ashworth, a woman with an imposing posture. If seize were to determine the ranking of importance, Lady Ashworth would certainly hold the front position, Alice thought rather discourteously, immediately feeling guilty for having such a thought; Lady Ashworth had been nothing but kind to them.

They carried out the necessary parting formalities social etiquette required of them and bade her farewell. Once the maid had closed the grand front door with a stately knock Alice relaxed and let out a sigh.

"What?" Cora asked, turning her face with an amused expression towards her sister.

Alice deeply breathed in the fresh air and admitted; "I thought it would never end."

Cora frowned. "You should get used to events like these, Alice," she told her sister. "Once we have visited papa at the fort and returned to London, you will be a debutante. You won't be able to retract yourself from society any longer."

Alice held her tongue, not wanting to even think about that now.

She really disliked social gatherings like these, being awkward in the presence of people other than her sister's or her father's. She never seemed to know the right words to say, know the right things to do. As far as she could remember, she had been inept at dealing with people. Not that she was clueless. On the contrary. Buried with her nose in her father's books most of the time, absorbing the words and images they provided, she probably was smarter than most of the ladies who surpassed her in seniority. But women just were not supposed to be interested in worldly affairs, let alone talk about them. Etiquette demanded that a girl like herself should only converse about topics in the feminine sphere. This usually came down to gossiping about those who were not attending, a routine Alice did not care for much. Therefore, she had been delighted when their father, a colonel in the British army, had send directives to his daughters in England to follow him to Colonial America. He had been challenging the French on the new continent for the last year and believed the time appropriate for them to join him. She had hoped coming to this new world implied she also was granted some leeway. Alas, days like these reminded her only of how naive she had been, believing things would change.

Although, Alice had to admit, one of the benefits of coming to this place was they were allowed to go about un-chaperoned by a third party, which would have been unthinkable had they still been in London. Thus, they set out to return to the house of Mrs. Milligan. Since arriving in Albany, the sisters had been entrusted to her care until they would set out to the fort.

As they walked through the busy town, Alice took in her surroundings. She was wide awake now, all her senses being stimulated by the bustling community. How strange everything seemed here, she thought to herself. They had arrived by ship last week, but she still was not accustomed to the foreign scents, the vibrant merchandize of the local townsmen or the crisp and clear air, so unlike the often damp atmosphere in London. Even the beauty of the surrounding countryside aroused her. Watching the outburst of the budding green of Colonial American springtime felt benignant to her eyes after having spent so many weeks at sea with nothing around her but bleak ocean views. She marveled at its woodlands too, at least what she had seen of it so far. Some trees, for instance, were bigger and more gnarled than she had ever seen before. But most of all, it was the sight of America's indigenous population which did not cease to amaze her. At home, she had seen pictures of the red men, scarcely clad and strangely adorned with feathers and beads, in her father's books. But seeing them for real was an altogether different thing. They scared her a little.

When they had almost reached the garden of Mrs. Milligan's house, which was situated in the more quiet parts of town, Alice spotted a beautiful bird, of a kind she had never seen before. It's color was vibrant red and it had a frolic tuft. It was chirping a happy tune. Delighted she turned to grasp Cora's arm to draw her attention. Her sister followed her gaze and a compliant smile spread on her face.

"Really, Alice," she chided. "Sometimes I think you care more about animals than about us humans. I'm going inside. Don't be long now."

Alice did not respond, not really paying attention to what her sister was saying, being rapt by the sight of the bird. She lifted her skirts and approached it prudently as to not chase it away, whistling a tune that she hoped resembled those of the bird. The bird cocked its head, as if listening. She took another step, and another, but then the bird hopped up and flew away to a branch on the opposite side of the street, as if to tease her. Alice followed it, before the scene repeated itself.

Being so preoccupied in her pursue of the bird, Alice never saw the men coming up. Suddenly she felt herself collide with an obstacle that did not yield. She would have fallen to the ground, if two strong arms had not extended to grasp her upper arms to steady her. Shocked, she realized she had bumped onto a man's chest. She had to bend her head a long way backwards to look up to him, and when she did, she looked in the most unusual face she had ever seen. It belonged to an Indian. She froze, unable to speak. He gazed down at her, still holding her arms, radiating warmth through the delicate fabric of her sleeves. His skin was brown like mahogany. His hair was black and almost iridescent, like a raven's wing. It fell down over his shoulders. His dark brown eyes stared at her, one brow raised as in wonder.

She had a sensation she had never had before, it was like her view somehow narrowed while the edges faded away and he was all she saw. After what felt like ages, but easily could have been seconds, he asked; "Are you alright?"

Alice was so surprised to hear him speak English she did not even notice he had not used the proper term to address her. She stood immobile, unable to respond, unable to look away. Not after Cora came hurrying down the path and the Indian slowly let go of her arms, her field of vision broadened to its usual frame again. She became aware there were two other Indian men standing slightly behind him, one looking amused, the face of the third man, who was obviously older than the other two, unreadable.

"Alice, what happened? Are you alright?" Concern was written on Cora's face.

"Alice!" Cora shook her lightly, forcing her to speak.

As Alice still did not utter a word, Cora turned to the men. "Well?" she inquired, unable to keep back a pitch of haughtiness in her voice.

Alice gasped. "I'm fine," she said.

As no one reacted, she added hesitantly; "It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention."

Shame suddenly overtook her and she lowered her eyes.

Cora straightened up, trying to maintain decorum and addressed the Indian that had held her sister. "Thank you for your aid, sir. We truly regret to have inconvenienced you."

As the Indian did not respond right away she felt forced to say; "Please excuse us, sir. Good day."

With that, she put her arm firmly around her sisters shoulder and led her towards the house. When they had almost reached the front door Alice could still feel his gaze on her. She did not dare to look back.


	2. Chapter 2

A week had passed since the tea party. They had spent time leisurely by drinking tea in the garden, strolling along the streets of town and taking rides in Mrs. Milligan's open carriage. Thus, the days elapsed carefree and surprisingly pleasant, at least to Alice, as she did not have a library at her disposal like the one she did back home.

That was until yesterday morning.

They were just finishing breakfast when the gong of the front door sounded. Surprised they looked up. They had not received visitors yet. The maid announced the arrival of a soldier, who, after being led in, introduced himself as major Duncan Heyward, the captain of the company that was to escort them to the fort the following morning.

_Tomorrow! _Alice felt a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. Since coming to Albany she had looked forward to this day, eager to see her father. But now it had almost arrived, she felt a little nervous too.

The major said she and her sister would travel with a squadron of twenty of his best men, which, to Alice, sounded like a ridiculous high number for just the two of them. Sure, she knew there supposed to be a war going on, but she had not witnessed any proof of it so far, apart from the occasional parading of British redcoats in town.

He continued by saying the journey would take about two weeks. Although the ladies would be traveling on horse they would not be able to bring any luggage, he added apologetically. Cora nodded, unperturbed. But, he reassured, they would not need to preoccupy themselves with any preparations whatsoever as his men would see after all their needs.

Alice could easily see he was trying to impress her sister. She instantly felt sorry for him.

He finished the conversation by rising out of his chair and saluting Cora courteously before he left the room, ignoring Alice.

Once he had left Cora went upstairs to go through their belongings to decide what would be appropriate for them to wear. Alice had risen from her chair to assist her, but Cora had dismissed her, saying they did not have much time left.

Instead Alice went to search Mrs. Milligan. She found her in the kitchen. In the short time span of a week she had grown rather fond of the elderly woman. Alice surprised Mrs. Milligan by giving her a hug, already biding her farewell as the following morning might not leave time for such affection.

And then Alice found herself alone in the garden, feeling kind of useless.

Being Cora's junior by three years she lacked her sisters confidence. While growing up, Cora had tried to fill the void their mother's death had left by learning her younger sister all the important things ladies of their stature needed to know, like showing her how to dress favorably, how to act becomingly. Although Alice really had tried to be interested in these matters, Cora's attempts had failed to succeed so far. Somehow, she could not help but wonder if it all was worth the effort, convinced as she was she would never be able to look like her sister, let alone act like her.

_You will be a debutante soon._ Cora's words returned in her mind.

She set course for one of the windows at the side of the house to study her reflection. A child looked back at her. She and her sister could not possibly have looked more different from one another. Alice pondered on the dissimilarities. Sure, both girls had hair that fell beyond their waist, but where Cora's was dark brown and curled abundantly, hers was blond with a slight wave. Where Cora's cheeks carried a delicate blush, her complexion was pale. If that was not bad enough, Alice had to stay inside or hide under an umbrella whilst being outdoors to blank the freckles that seized every spark of sunlight however tiny to pop up on her cheekbones. Where Cora's dark brown eyes gazed into the world dauntlessly, her questioning green eyes had confused many of the governesses who had tutored them, making them uncomfortable with her staring look. And lastly, Cora's figure already possessed womanly curves, while her built was slender, like a child. Her only asset seemed to be her voice. Alice could sing beautifully, but would only do so when she was truly alone. It had enchanted quite a few listeners whose presence was obviously unknown to her.

In London, Cora had been surrounded by many young gentlemen who longed for a glimpse of her attention, admiring her appearance and wit. They ignored Alice completely, which she actually did not mind at all, being at a total loss on how to interact with members of the opposite sex. Therefore she dreaded their return to London, which she knew would inevitably lead to awkward situations.

Alice sighed. Although she sometimes felt a little jealous of her big sister, she could not envy her though. She was just too fond of her. Besides, she rather spent time reading her father's books or, at least while they had still been living in Scotland, roaming the countryside of his estate. Thinking back of the one place she truly had been happy made her throat grow tight. She swallowed back a tear.

_No_. She would not give in to this nostalgia. Not now. Not with the day that lay ahead of her. Resolutely, she turned her face away from the window to head towards the house.

As she walked back she saw a flash of red rushing through the shrubs. Recognizing the bird, she instantly recalled her encounter with the Indian. She did not have to close her eyes to feel his hands on her arms again, feel his gaze on her face. Just thinking of it made her blush all over again. _Thank goodness_, she thought, _she would never have to face him again_. If she would, she wished the earth would swallow her up.

She hurried back to the house, shaking of the memory.


	3. Chapter 3

One moment the world was at peace. Alice was sitting on the back of her horse, lulled by the repetitive movement of its trot. The next thing she knew everything was madness.

They had tramped through the forest for about a week and were marching in a column on a path along a wooded slope. All of a sudden horrifying shrieks sounded of a kind that set her teeth on edge. They definitely sounded human. She looked around to see where it came from, while at the same time restraining her horse. The soldiers in front of her halted, looking around nervously.

Before she had a chance to establish its origin the screaming stopped, leaving a deafening silence. The enchantment of the lush greenery waned abruptly and was replaced by anxiety for an alien environment. Alice did not know what scared her more; The noise of before or the silence that reigned presently. Apparently her horse felt the same, for it shook its head agitatedly.

The silence did not last long though, as out of nowhere Indians emerged from behind the trees and shrubs, almost naked, resuming their hollering. Their faces were painted in hideous colors and patterns. With axes raised in their hands they advanced swiftly.

The orderly row of soldiers fell apart as the savages attacked them. Major Heyward started yelling commands at his men, desperate to bring his forces under control again. His efforts succeeded to some extent, for the soldiers arranged themselves in three ranks and started firing at the savages before reloading their muskets frantically, in order to defend the women and themselves.

Utter chaos followed. The air was heavy with gun smoke, watering her eyes. Clearly her fellow citizen were not accustomed to this kind of combat. Although they resisted bravely they were unable to withstand the Indian forces for long. In fact, they were being butchered. No other word came to her mind to describe the horror which took place just in front of her. She saw axes being cut into flesh. The edges of red coats fading, as blood covered white skin. Before she could avert her eyes, she saw major Hayward brought down to his knees before he was scalped by one of the mad men. Nothing in her life had prepared her for such a gruesome sight. Unintentionally, her fingers let go of the reigns which made her horse, sensing the slack in restraint, step back and forth panicky.

_Where was Cora?_ Bewildered she looked around for her sister, as if finding her could miraculously end this misery. But Cora had obviously dismounted, for although she was able to see her horse, bucking and throwing itself about from fear, her sister was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly new gunshots sounded, this time coming from the surrounding bushes. The savages quit their murderous actions and looked around in distress. They raised their axes hesitantly, as though not knowing what to expect.

Three new men appeared at the scene. They were Indian too, although differently clothed. Terror-stricken, Alice looked at this new setback. _They would surely die here. _But the newcomers did not attack the soldiers. Instead, they charged at the other Indians, clearly surprising them with this change of odds.

She did not understand what was happening, but when she finally spotted her sister sitting on the ground a little further ahead, she let out sigh of relief. Cora looked back and beckoned her, almost angrily. Before she had a chance to join her though, her horse pranced, causing her to slide backwards. For a second her body hung awkwardly in the air before she smacked hard onto the ground. A sudden piercing pain shot through her leg while at the same time a repugnant snap sounded, like a dry branch being crushed. For a few moments she laid paralyzed on the ground, feeling pain of a kind she had never experienced before. Slowly, she let out a breath to suppress the wave of nausea that came over her. It took a while before she regained control over her muscles again, but she managed to struggle up, refusing to lay on the ground helplessly until she was going to be killed. Careful to lean on her good leg she straightened up, but a wave of pain coursed through her anew. Fear got the best of her. _Had she broken her leg? _

Her sister was watching her with anxious eyes from her hiding place, ready to come over, but Alice managed a reassuring smile. As her sisters facial expression turn from relief to disgust, Alice's grimace died on her face, not understanding the reason.

That was until she felt her arms being pulled at her back violently while a hand came up from behind to throttle her. Before she knew what happened her body was being lifted and pressed shamefully tight against a man's front, causing her feet to dangle helplessly in the air. She felt a breath on her ear which almost made her gag. Powerless to move she watched the scene in front of her. Her countrymen lying dead on the ground, their bodies entwined with one another. The desperate face of her sister.

But their attackers were diminishing rapidly. Somehow, the three native men were prevailing. One had a huge axe raised in his hand and turned to pursue a savage who tried to escape. Another swirled after having dispatched his opponent with dazzling speed to look at her directly. Seeing her perilous position made him glower in anger. Suddenly she recognized his attire. She had seen this before, somewhere, before all of this. When her mind was finally able to fully recollect, she recognized _him_ too, although the face currently looking at her was rather terrifying, not resembling his enthralling gaze in Albany at all. She remembered she had wished never to see him again and groaned inwardly. Had that been only last week? It now felt like a lifetime away.

She looked back at him, feeling very weary now, but his eyes held hers unflinching. He moved towards her, but the hand of his companion on his shoulder held him back. This man got down on one knee while swinging his long rifle in a lithe movement on his shoulder to point it in her direction, ready to aim. Alice felt the hand around her throat disappear, only to be replaced by the sting of a cold blade pressed against her neck. She recoiled to avoid her skin touching the edge. The native man lowered his riffle as in resignation, a stoic expression on his face. Alice looked back, her eyes empty. Then she felt her body being moved backwards as her captivator slowly withdrew.

Time stood still.

When the distance between them and the others was about seventy feet, he swung her body around his in a brutal twist, the movement sending an agonizing pain through her leg, before he turned and ran away from the scene of the ambush, Alice bouncing on his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: Thanks for all the nice reviews!_

Dizzily she watched the ground beneath her pass by with staggering speed. _Was this nightmare never going to end?_

She struggled to come free, pounding her fists on the back of her usurper, only to feel the grip of his arm around her waist tighten. She tried to lift her head to look back, but the jolts prevented her to see the stragglers. Her long hair, which Cora only this morning had arranged neatly on top of her head, had come loose and was now brushing the forest floor.

After a while the soil became rock. She detected he was carrying her along a path that looked as though carved out of the bluff of the mountain. The air was still now, but for the sound of the wind whistling passed her ears and the pants of his breath. On her left the earth suddenly stopped and a cleft appeared, taking her breath away. Although moments ago she had wished with all her heart the savage would release her, she now found herself praying he would not let go of her, fearing she would fall in the dazzling depth.

Suddenly he released his grip and let her fall down on the ledge. She collapsed from pain as her feet touched the ground. The cold mountain rock exuded the many layers of her skirts and reached her behind.

"Get up," he gnarled from above her. His accent made the words sound almost foreign.

She looked up at him, too exhausted to obey. He seemed exhausted too, for his chest heaved heavily. When she took in his face she nearly choked. The man that looked down on her maliciously was the Indian scout who had been guiding them to the fort. Baffled, she blinked her eyes. Why had he attacked them? She opened her mouth to ask, but already he jerked her upwards, binding her wrists with a piece of rope he retrieved from his side, winding the other end around his fist. However, before he could drag her forward again, the sound of a gunshot reverberated through the air. They both turned towards the sound, stunned. On the ledge, about sixty feet away, the native man was standing, his long rifle still pointed at them, smoke coming out of its barrel.

It looked as though he had missed, for at first nothing happened. But then the smell of burned flesh reached her nostrils, making her feel sick. As in slow-motion, her persecutor collapsed on his knees. Blood mixed with the red paint on his chest. He looked at it in disbelief. Slowly, he rolled towards the edge of the mountain ridge.

In contrast to his listless surrender, the following events happened in a flash. Realizing what was about to occur Alice jumped up, forgetting exhaustion and pain, to clasp frantically at the rope in an effort to free herself before the savage would drag her down into the depth. Her fingers fidgeted powerless while she rubbed her wrists to loosen the rope, but it was hopeless; the knot had been tied expertly and refused to surrender. Almost losing her senses she looked up in despair, just to see _him_ rushing towards her from the other side of the ledge. Relief made her almost laugh hysterically for she knew it was too late. He would never be able to reach her in time and untie the knot; she felt the rope already pulling her down. The last thing she remembered before she fell was the image of him plunging after her, sunlight reflecting on the blade of the knife in his hand and the sensation of his iron grip around her hand. Then her head hit the rock and everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

She was lying on her back in the grass, looking at the blue sky above her. Intuitionally she knew she was in Scotland, though it did not look like home at all, as huge trees were standing in the front lawn of their house where the green once had been immaculate. The long branches reached up to the sky ridiculously high. A red bird flew by. She extended her arm and it landed on the back of her hand. Its tiny paws encircled her middle finger, causing a tickling sensation on her skin. She watched it curiously. The ground beneath her was shaking gently. She came upright and saw Miss O'Shaughnessy, her governess, come out of the house and head towards her. She was screaming and waved an axe above her head, looking horrifying. Alice wondered what she had done to anger her this much. She did not want to wait and find out though. She leaped up to her feet and looked around for a place to escape to. The bird had vanished. At the rim of the wood she saw an Indian with hair like the raven beckoning her. She started running towards him, but the trembling of the ground intensified. Her body was rocked back and forth, making it impossible for her to reach him. Then the earth beneath her opened up to let a giant hand through that slowly made its way towards her, encircling her, suffocating her while pulling her down, down, leaving nothing but blackness.

The trembling all of a sudden stopped.

After a while she noticed she was lying on an uneven surface. Her blood was pumping through her veins, each heartbeat causing a stab of pain behind her eyes. It was almost unbearable. Though her mind was still busy piecing its recent perceptions together, she could now feel her body ache all over. A rough and hard device was pressed tightly against her leg.

She murmured and lifted her hand to soothe the pain in her head with her fingertips, but something held them back.

A voice was calling her. She opened her eyes. At first she saw only branches, many branches, their knotted shapes entwined. They were being faintly illuminated by the fading light of day. Further above, the bottom of the clouds shined rosy due to the setting sun, which cast the surrounding forest in an almost unreal glow. For a moment she wondered if she was still dreaming.

Something tugged at her hand. A woman was sitting next to her, looking very disheveled. Her face was twisted in concern, her cheeks were smeared with tears. She was speaking to her.

"Alice. Oh god, Alice."

Then she knew: _Cora!_

She had never seen her sister this upset. What on earth had brought this on? She looked back at her, while her eyes started to water out of their own accord and blurred her vision. She shifted to console her, but the motion intensified the pain in her head, making her forget what it was she had been about to do.

She closed her eyes again and moaned. "Make it stop. Please? Make it stop." She did not only refer to the pain, but to the horrible images which still lingered inside her head as well.

From the other side of her she heard movement. A hand touched her forehead, firm yet feather light. A deep voice mumbled words in a language she did not understand. They soothed her though. She felt her body sink back in dreamless sleep.

* * *

The second time, she woke up to the sound of birdsong. When she opened her eyes she saw two doves above her head chasing one another through the trees in what looked like playing tag. She could feel the corners of her mouth twist upwards. Her head still ached, but not as much as before.

On her left the reassuring form of her sister was lying on the ground, covered by a blanket, sound asleep and looking exhausted. It had to be early morning for a slight haze was still in the air.

A rustling sound came from her right. She tried to turn her head towards it but lacked the strength to do so. Then an Indian came into her view, his face somehow ageless, his skin decorated with strange lines and patterns. She remembered having seen him before, but could not establish where and when. In his hands he carried an elongated-shaped bag, made out of leather, which he held up to her invitingly.

She stared at his face, at the tattoo in the shape of a snake above his right eye. Was she still dreaming? The touch of his hand behind her neck felt real though. He raised her head with one hand, while bringing the nozzle of the bag close to her lips with the other.

"Drink," he said.

Alice kept staring at him, unable to unite the sound of the word with its meaning.

"Drink," he repeated.

She jolted back to reality. Obediently, she put her lips around the nozzle. He lifted the bag slightly to accommodate her and gingerly she took a gulp. It was water, tasting leather-like yet delicious. She felt the water going down her gullet. She took another sip, then one more.

"Enough." Gently he pulled the bag away from her mouth. He lowered her head softly to the ground.

Alice felt herself float away to emptiness again.

* * *

The third time, she woke up feeling a wet sensation on her face. She opened her eyes. Big drops of water were falling from the sky, making her dizzy as she looked up while the specks falling in her eyes caused her to blink. It took her a while to apprehend the concept of rain again.

Her body wobbled as it was carried forth on some sort of stretcher. But for her head, she was all covered by the blanket she had seen on her sister earlier. She was being moved forward so swiftly she prayed the bearers would not stumble and let her fall.

One of the natives was holding the foot side of the stretcher. His hair hang down in wet strings along his face that wore a resolute expression. To her surprise his skin was not as tanned as she initially had thought. _This man was not an Indian._ Yet he was wearing their clothes, she thought bemused. He must have sensed her gaze for he lowered his eyes and looked straight at her. Being caught, she quickly looked back at the grey sky above her. Realizing she was thirsty again, she opened her mouth to catch a drop of rain.

Beyond her scope someone uttered a curt command, its meaning escaping her. They halted and her stretcher was being lowered to the ground. The middle-aged native appeared at her side. He brought out his water bag that had been hanging on a belt around his waist. She looked eagerly at it, longing to smooth her sore throat again. She tried to tilt her head but he shook his and crouched to put his hand at the back of her neck to lift it. As he did so, she saw the third native emerge behind him. She had been wondering if she had imagined him in her dreams, as she had not seen him since regaining consciousness. He, too, looked completely sodden. His hair was glued to his face, somehow reminding her of the sea-lions she had seen swimming along their ship near the coast.

Seeing the young and the middle-aged man together made her realize they had to be father and son; The resemblance between them was evident.

She stopped drinking and the elder native rose to store the water bag at his side again. He uttered a curt word in his language and her stretcher was being lifted before they moved on, proceeding with great alacrity again.

The rain kept falling down unceasingly.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: Oops! I can't believe I misspelled the title. How ashamed can one possibly be?_

* * *

The strong smell of smoke was itching her nose. Alice woke up to find she was lying on her back again. She expected to see the never ending forest around her, as it had surrounded her for so many days now, but instead she was inside a dwelling of sorts. The sides were straight, but the roof was shaped like half a ball. Stars were peeping through a small round hole in its middle. Apparently, it was night and the rain had stopped. It was dark inside, but for a small fire in the center which illuminated the sides, causing the shadows to dance slowly on the wall. _Where was she?_ She had no recollection of being carried inside. Instinctively she tried to rise, but the sudden movement made her body instantly ache in protest. She gave a short mumble.

A soft shifting sound made her lift her head towards it. An old woman appeared into the circle of light and came sitting next to her. She was Indian and looked very old. Her face was creased like the bark of an ancient oak yet her eyes seemed unaffected by age. Her grey hair was divided in two long braids.

She muttered incomprehensible words as she looked keenly at Alice and grabbed her hand. The touch of her skin felt rough and calloused to hers. She turned the palm of her hand upwards and brushed it with her forefinger, tracing one of its lines. The touch sent goose bumps to the skin of her arm. The woman examined it while nodding, then she looked up again. Alice felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Was she some kind of prophet? She remembered having read in her father's books their perceptions were greatly valued by the natives.

She heard someone rise next to her.

"Alice, are you awake?" Cora's voice sounded sleepy.

A flush of relief waved through her body. Her sister was here too!

"Where am I?" The words sounded hoarse as she had not spoken in so many days. "Who is this?"

The Indian woman retreated and the well-known shape of her sister took her place. Her face was wrinkled from sleep, but she smiled nevertheless. "Do you've _any_ idea how relieved I am to hear your voice? I've been so worried about you."

"What happened?"

"Try not to think about it right now," her sister said. She raised her hand to stroke Alice's hair, which made her feel years younger than she actually was. It did not bother her right now. "Let's get you better first."

"Everything aches, what happened to me?" She persisted.

Cora hesitated; "Well, your leg appears to be broken and you probably are suffering from a concussion."

"How-" Alice began.

Cora interrupted, smiling evasively. "There's so much to tell you, I wouldn't know where to begin."

Alice felt the weariness come over her again. Indeed, she did not want to hear it yet.

Seeing her sister struggle to keep her eyes open, Cora said; "Get some more sleep first."

Alice had no intention to object to that and the instant she closed her eyes she felt sleep carry her away.

* * *

Dark brown eyes were gazing curiously at her. They belonged to a girl who was standing at the entrance of her present home.

Moments ago, Alice had awoken to find she was still in the same place as before. It was now broad daylight for rays of sunshine peeped their way in through tiny cracks in the wall to shine brightly on the floor, in sharp contrast to the dim interior.

She was alone. Apparently, her sister had to attend matters outside. The sound of chattering in a language other than hers reached her ears. It looked like they had reached some sort of settlement.

The girl stooped to enter and knelt beside her. She started speaking in her native tongue. Alice looked back at her helplessly. The girl smiled, which made her solemn face light up. She looked upwards as in thought. Then she made a movement as though she was eating air with an imaginary spoon.

Alice caught the girls intention. She suddenly became aware her stomach making growling sounds. Ashamed by this audible acknowledgement of her body, but pleased with the mutual understanding with the native girl, she nodded.

The girl disappeared outside, only to return moments later with a bowl in her hands. She knelt beside her again and brought out an uneven wooden spoon. Slowly she started scooping bits of the content of the bowl and brought them to her mouth. The food consisted of some kind of mashed corn and tasted surprisingly well. The intimacy of being fed introduced a strange domesticity in the room and made her feel a little uncomfortable, but the girl proceeded unflappable as if she did not notice. Perhaps she _did_ not notice, Alice thought. When she could eat no more she closed her mouth at the next spoon, shaking her head in refusal. The girl placed the bowl aside her.

She turned to study her inquisitively which gave Alice the opportunity to do the same in return. The girl looked about her own age. Her skin was smoothly colored. Her hair was almost black and was being pulled back in one long braid. When she did not smile her face immediately looked serious. Alice had noticed she moved very agile as though her cloths permitted this in every way. It stirred a twitch of jealousy in her stomach, knowing the constraint her own clothes imposed on her.

The girl began to speak in her language again. Alice just looked back, wondering what it was she was saying. Her speech did not resemble any of the languages she had been taught while growing up. All she could do was stare back. The girl shook her head as in resignation before she pointed to herself while saying a word that sounded like imala. Could she be saying her name?

Again the girl said; "Imala," with her finger still pointing to her chest.

It had to be the girls name. A pretty name too, she thought. "Imala," she echoed.

The girl nodded her head in approval.

"Imala," Alice repeated to please her.

Then slowly, as to not arouse the pain she feared to feel, Alice lifted her arm to point to herself and said, "Alice."

The girls smile broadened. She tried to reproduce the sound, but the word coming out of her mouth did not resemble her name at all. Alice smiled encouraging and said it again, more slowly this time. The girl mimicked the movement with her lips, but clearly it was difficult for her. She shook her head in resignation. Alice could not suppress a giggle, which made the girls brows raise in wonder, but then she smiled too. Suddenly her eyes widened and she said a word which sounded like up-hook-on while she reached out her hand hesitantly to touch Alice's hair. She nodded and repeated the word, looking pleased with herself.

Alice wondered what it meant.

Suddenly she saw movement beyond the girl. She focused her eyes on the distant shapes only to see native faces peeking in, most of them belonging to children. Feeling shyness come over her, she averted her gaze to the fire quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

"Alice?"

Alice was startled at her sister's voice, having been somewhere between wake and slumber for the last half hour or so. She had been staring at the opening in the covering of the lodging, enraptured by the spirals of smoke that curled their way out to the blue sky above, thinking of nothing much at all. Outside she heard the native voices of the Indian camp to which she now knew they had taken her. She was curious to see it for herself, if a little daunted also. She suddenly wondered where their three saviors were, not having seen them since the day the rain poured down from the heavens.

"Alice?" Cora repeated.

Recognizing the way her sister had pronounced her name, Alice knew she was not going to like what she was about to hear.

"Mmm?" she said back, dreading the moment.

"Alice," her sister persisted, a resolute expression on her face. "Now that I know you are going to be alright, I will have to leave you to-"

"What?" Stunned, Alice interrupted her, turning her gaze from the roof to her sisters face. Leave her? Now?

"I'm sorry, Alice," Cora said apologetically, "but I simply must get to the fort to let papa know we're alright. He must be sick with worry we haven't arrived by now."

Alice lowered her eyes, shamefaced. Since arriving at the camp, all she had thought about was herself. Being so stricken with everything that had happened to them she had not once thought of her father. She laid a hand on her sisters arm as to let her know she was sorry. Cora smiled at her indulgent. "You'll be fine."

"You think so?"

"Yes," her sister said firmly.

Alice was not convinced though. "But I don't understand. How will you be able to reach the fort? All the soldiers have been killed."

"Well," Cora said hesitantly, "I will not be going alone." She averted her eyes, avoiding Alice's gaze.

"What do you mean?" Alice asked.

Cora turned her face back to her sister, defiance in her eyes. "Nathaniel will accompany me."

"Nathaniel?" Alice asked, unable to suppress a pitch of anger in her voice. "Who is Nathaniel?"

Suddenly she felt her stomach tighten from frustration. While she had to stay in this hut all day, life outside had proceeded, excluding her while her sister had have every opportunity to participate. She so much wished to behold the world outside.

Cora sighed. "I think now is the time to tell you what happened since the ambush."

She waited a while as if to find the right words, which was unusual for Cora. Then again, nothing had been usual these last weeks.

Her sister then sketched the events that had taken place. She began by telling the names of their three rescuers. The father being Chingagchook, his Indian son Uncas and his white son Nathaniel. How these men had stumbled across the tracks of what turned out to be a Huron war party and had been following since. How they had arrived at the scene of the ambush and had overcome their attackers. How the two sons had followed their chief who had kidnapped Alice and how Nathaniel had managed to shoot him. How the rope that had bound her to the savage had threatened to drag her down into the deep with him. And lastly, how Uncas had sliced the rope while diving behind her, falling with her to a jut below the ledge.

She stopped and turned her face towards the fire, lost in thought.

Then she turned her head back to Alice, who in her turn averted her eyes to stare into the flames herself. She had to process everything her sister had just said to her. Although the thoughts whirled in her head, her mind kept lingering on the last sentence. What had he done? _Had he saved her life? _

She did not know what to say to this. She did not know what to think of it.

Cora laid a hand on her shoulder, pressing it reassuringly. "It's alright, Alice."

Indeed the tears came. She felt them running along her cheeks, finding their way down into her neck. It was as though all the horror of that day washed over her again. Yet by crying she felt herself being reduced to a child again. Why could she not be brave?

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she managed to whimper.

"Hush." Cora's voice was dismissive. "It's not your fault. None of this is."

Cora waited until her sisters weeping lessened.

Alice rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. To divert Cora's attention she said; "I still don't understand why our guide betrayed us."

"Me neither," Cora said.

They were both silent.

Then Alice asked; "When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. Nathaniel thinks we will reach the fort in about a week. But he doesn't know how long it will take papa to set out a rescue party and return here."

"You needn't worry about me," Alice let out, suddenly feeling brave. She had made up her mind just now. She was going to be alright. "I will be alright," her voice followed the words that had just popped up in her head. "I will be alright," she repeated, as if saying it would enforce it to be so.

"I know," Cora smiled. "Chingagchook and Uncas will make sure of it."

Somehow, Alice felt her face flush at these words. She avoided looking into her sisters eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

She was alone in the lodge again. Cora was gone. Since her departure earlier that morning Alice had been in agony. Although she had bragged to her sister she would be alright, bold was the last word to describe her current state of mind. Instead, she felt utterly alone. She had not been outside yet, so she could imagine herself being completely alone in the wilderness, or, admittedly, in a community she was unfamiliar with. A seemingly endless forest separated her from the society she did know. She suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. Nothing felt common anymore. She did not even know what she was wearing right now. She lifted the soft fur under which she was lying to peek underneath. Apparently, her dress had been taken off by she hoped had been Cora, for she now was wearing nothing but her shift. Her cheeks flushed of the thought someone other than her sister undressing her, even if it had been a woman.

She fidgeted, eager to move her body as it was being confined for so many days now. All the muscles in her back ached from having been forced to lay down for so long. With some difficulty she rolled over to her side, facing the brisk fire, which mere sight offered her comfort.

Her thoughts went back to the heartbreaking farewell with her sister that morning. Cora had held her firmly in a loving embrace and had said she would be back before she knew it. Alice had clung to her as if she were dear life itself. _Don't go_, she had wanted to scream with all her heart, but instead she had bitten her tongue. She knew Cora was right; Their father would be out of his head with worry.

Before she had exited the lodge, Cora had looked back once more while saying she should not worry over her as she had full confidence Nathaniel would safeguard her. That's how she had actually put it. In a flash she had wondered how Cora had come to trust this man so completely in such a short time-span. She had never relied on any member of the male species like this back home, apart from her father. Apparently, this Nathaniel had made quite an impression on her usually so sovereign sister! Alice had laughed a little laugh, wondering how he felt about her sister in turn.

A part of her still could not believe she was now on her own. You'll be safe with Chingagchook and Uncas, her sister's voice echoed in her head. Was she? Alice could not even pronounce the name of the first. And where was he now? She had not even seen him since he had offered her his water bag. She refused to think about his son at all. Why had he bothered to save her if he did not even have the decency to at least make sure she was alright now?

She drew in her breath, trying to muster courage from some hidden part deep within her. Rationally, she knew she was being unreasonable. Perhaps this was the Indian way, though her father's books had said nothing on that account, she thought rather sulkily again.

She tried to think happy thoughts. Today was the first day the headache that had nagged her almost constantly since the ambush had almost faded. It made her feel fresh somehow, although, she had to admit to herself, only mentally. Physically, she all but felt sparkling. The last time she had washed herself thoroughly must have been in Albany. When she realized that was almost two weeks ago she frowned in dismay and brought her arm to her nose to smell her skin. Thank goodness, it did not reek, but this did not diminish her longing to clean herself wholly. Cora had helped her wash her extremities yesterday, which had made her feel like a child once more.

With some effort she rolled onto her other side and started staring at the walls, trying to focus on her surroundings. She could see their little house was dome-shaped. There were many arch-formed poles lashed together where they crossed a perpendicular set of poles, forming a round frame. It was covered with what seemed to be bark and hides. She looked at it in wonder for it was constructed with great precision.

Outside, she heard the kind of noises indicating she was in a small settlement; Children screaming in delightful play, a pounding sound like something was being repaired, men laughing. Alice perceived her senses somehow to be working better than before. She could see every line in the hide of the wall, hear every rumor outside, as if her body in some strange way was compensating for its inability to move.

She wondered where the native girl, Imala's - Alice forced herself to think of her, could be, not having seen her all morning. She had rather grown accustomed to her good care. She was just wondering what she would do if no one was to look after her all day, feeling self-pity grow again, when her ministering angel appeared at the entrance, a bunch of hides and blankets piled up in her arms. She was being followed by an older woman who resembled her so much it could only be her mother, although she lacked the content expression Imala's face showed almost constantly. Instead, her face looked rather disapproving as she took in the girl lying under the hide on the floor.

Imala laid the bundle in a corner of the hut. By means of pointing and speaking she taught Alice her mother's name was Nagamao, while at the same time learning her the Indian word for mother. Imala certainly would be a wonderful schoolteacher, Alice thought, albeit a slightly young one.

Mother and daughter then started sweeping the floor and building up the fire again. After they were finished, Nagamao sat down on the floor while Imala went outside.

Just as Alice was wondering how she could convey her wish to wash to her hosts Imala returned with a large bowl filled with water. Seeing relief spread on Alice's face, her mouth twisted with humor.

After she was as clean as she could get, she laid down her head and dozed off.

* * *

His eyes rested on the broad back of Kele before him. Behind him, Uncas knew the confident yet soundless steps of Ahusaka. They were walking through a part of the forest where the undergrowth, existing of vines, shrubs and small trees, was dense, slowing down their advance. His two companions were armed with bow and arrows, he carried his rifle. Each of the three men was additionally equipped with several knifes and a tomahawk.

The sky was overcast and wind was absent, making it a perfect day to hunt. Early morning they had set out along one of the many paths surrounding the camp and had headed out in westerly direction, which was not only advantageous to the hunters as the sun would be in their backs providing better view - if it were to emerge - but also prevented their scent being picked up by any animal they would encounter as the wind – if it were to rise – would blow towards them instead of away from them.

No words were spoken as they proceeded and although the mood was amicable, Uncas was aware his skills would be put to the test by his two companions. It did not trouble him though, first of all because he was confident he was capable to come up to their expectations, secondly because it was to be expected, since he was not a native camp member. His own tribe, the Mohicans, had almost fallen into oblivion and he and his father were its only surviving members by blood.

After they had been walking for some time, Uncas suddenly halted. He gestured to his companions and pointed at the print of a two-toed hoof in the earth that was still wet due to last week's profuse rainfall. He doubted their failure to notice it. A flicker of humor in Kele's eyes confirmed his assumption.

Although he usually hunted with his father or brother he felt at ease today. He had seen both men on an irregular basis when he had visited their camp with his father and brother and had stayed there during various periods over the years. Kele was a few years older than him and the last time he had seen Ahusaka he had been a gangling adolescent, although Uncas could hardly believe that watching him now. Also, after the conversation with his brother prior to his departure to fort Oswego with the white woman, it was a silent understanding his father and he were not to leave the camp together, thus ensuring one of them would be present in case anything should happen with the white girl.

They continued their route again and Uncas took in his surroundings. Although this particular area of the forest was not familiar to him, being on the track was and he drew comfort from its naturalness since the last week had been quite unusual to say the least. Not that fighting a battle was uncommon to him. Living on the boundary amidst various Indian tribes, not being with all of them on good terms, meant trouble was never was far away and since the white man had washed upon his shores and had given no indication whatsoever of leaving again their way of living had been hampered even more. But rescuing a Yengeese girl and bringing her and her sister into safety had been exceptional even for them. Not to mention it had inhibited their intention to set out to Can-tuck-ee, though this did not disconcert him much as he was used to take the day as it came. Still, witnessing the frail condition of the wounded girl amidst the harsh life of the frontier had been awkward.

When he had first set eyes on her in Albany he had thought an alien creature literally had stepped into his world. Everything about her was strange – the color of her skin, the extensiveness of her clothes, her headgear - yet looking into those huge eyes was beholding the forest itself and for a moment she seemed the incarnation of his father's words never to rely on first impressions. But after the young woman, whom he would get to know as her sister, had dismissed them in a way they probably considered courteous but showed only fear to him, he had cast off any thought of the girl adamantly.

After they had settled their business in Albany, which consisted mostly of trading furs and adding supplies, they had set out to the west. Soon after, his father had noticed the unusual traces and they had started following its track, creating a waft of anticipation in the air so tangible he could feel it creeping along his skin, as he sensed the intentions of those leaving the trace not to be benign. His hunch proved to be right, as they caught up in the midst of the battle which involved their tribal foes the Huron.

Still, they would have evaded the scene if it had not been for the women, whose involvement enforced them to intervene in accordance with their code of honor, which in this case basically came down to eliminate their attackers. As he was engaged into battle he was still unaware he had seen the women before. Awareness only dawned once they had defeated all enemies but one. Recognizing the girl and seeing her innocence about to be shattered by that Huron captain had aroused an anger in him he had not known he possessed. The urge to crush his opponent had almost overwhelmed him and he would have fulfilled his desire if it had not been for the hand of his brother holding him back, giving him the opportunity to gain a clearer yet necessary perspective of the situation. He had never lost his self-control this way and it had bothered him since.

He rather sensed the presence of the deer than he actually saw it. The feeling put a halt to his musings. He gestured to stop and slowly brought out his rifle without averting his gaze. The three men waited motionless. Further ahead, among the ferns, a deer appeared. Uncas could see it move its nostrils, though it had not detected them yet. He aimed his trade musket steadily at the head of the deer and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Uncas headed to the central fire-pit of the camp to join his father who was sitting cross-legged in a circle of men. The smell of a fish stew boiling above the fire made his mouth water. His father just swallowed a spoon full, before he asked his son; "Good hunt?"

"A deer," Uncas nodded his head to the carcass that was hanging on one of the racks further away, ready to be skinned by one of the women. He seated himself a bit further away on the ground and started cleaning his rifle. Ahusaka already was sharpening his knife, while Kele just stared into the flames.

Imala exceeded one of the wigwams and came over to the men. "Tough morning?" She asked her older brother Kele teasingly.

"I'd say about the same as yours," he jested, as he directed his head towards the wigwam with the Yengeese girl out of which she had just appeared. Imala rolled her eyes, while making an indignant puffing sound. She offered Uncas a ladle filled to the brim with stew. He thanked her and started eating gratefully.

Nagamao exceeded the wigwam too and approached Chingagchook. She laid a hand on his shoulder and said. "Òphùkòn is recovering quickly now. I think she might be up soon."

Uncas noticed Ahusaka raised his head in curiosity at these words.

"Mmm," his father said. "I'll see to it this afternoon." And to his son; "You'd better start looking for some long straight branches."

Uncas nodded.

* * *

He entered the wigwam after his father, a long cane in his hand. Up till now, he had not been involved in the white girls recovery, though this was not due to a lack of concern from his part, but merely since care work was socialized into a feminine sphere.

He saw her bed was placed left from the fire. She had managed to put herself in an upright position, which clearly had taken her some effort as tiny drops of sweat were visible on her forehead from exertion. Her mouth opened in surprise as he and his father entered and she hurriedly clutched at the fur that covered her from the waist down to pull it up to her chin.

As his father crouched beside her Uncas seated himself at the end of her bed. His father removed the fur that covered her legs and started examining both her leg and the splint. Uncas had been relieved the fracture in her lower leg had been of a closed kind, thus reducing complications.

He saw she averted her eyes shyly towards the fire, but as his father began to palpate her leg, curiosity made her turn back her head to look closely at the device that had been constructed around her right leg, which gave him a chance to study her in his turn.

She looked out of place in the faintly lit space with its rough walls and unrefined materials. Or perhaps the way she looked so different from his people just made that so, he thought. The white skin of her arms and shoulders was in sharp contrast with the brown fur she held tightly between her clenched fists. Her blonde hair hung loose and fell down around her shoulders like a waterfall, albeit a wild one. The almost translucent skin together with the delicacy of her bone structure remembered him of the porcelain crockery he once had seen in the trading post in Albany. Back then, it had made him wonder why anyone would bother using utensils that had the appearance they would break merely by looking at it.

Suddenly she looked up and caught him watching her. He kept staring in those eyes.

"Good," his father said approvingly. He rose and gave him a nod before he stepped outside without so much of a word. Her eyes followed his father leave and then settled back on him. She looked expectedly as if she was waiting for him to say something, but as the silence lingered on he could see she got uncomfortable.

"Lie back." His voice sounded harsher than he had meant. He placed the branch he had carried on the floor next to her. She merely looked at it.

"Lie back, miss," he repeated.

The shock to hear him use this term to address her made her almost fall back to the ground from surprise, causing her mouth to twist from pain as her head hit the ground, but she kept her eyes on him. He could now see she wore some sort of thin undergarment. In her neck an ardent red welt was visible, which too contrasted sharply with the white of her skin. Seeing the fiery line instantly revived the image of the blade pressed against it and he tried to focus on the task ahead.

He took her wrist, that looked very small in his hand and pulled it gently to stretch out her arm along the side of her body. Then he rose to his knees and took his knife to cut a notch on the branch at the level of her armpit, her wrist and the sole of her foot.

He raised to his feet and gazed down on her. "Tomorrow," he said. Then he turned to exit the wigwam, heaving a sigh as he got out.


	9. Chapter 9

She wondered if it were possible to feel more embarrassed than she was feeling right now. She doubted it. Alice had just hobbled out of the hut - which by now she knew was actually called a wigwam - for the first time, her arms tightly around the necks of Imala on her left and Nagamao on her right, taking little steps while leaning on the shoulders of the women, careful to avoid standing on her right leg.

It was a beautiful morning. Birds were singing as if determined to proof to every creature near and far spring was in the air, which today however was totally wasted on Alice, since she was preoccupied physically with moving onwards to a flat rock in the center of the camp and mentally with trying to appear unaffected by all of this, as if it was perfectly normal to walk through an Indian village with all the natives gathered from far and near to stare at her bluntly.

As the three of them finally reached the stone, she let loose of her helpers necks and turned around to lower her body slowly onto the rock with her hands until she reached a sitting position, while stretching her right leg in front of her. Although the exertion made her pant and puff, she was glad she had made it out of the seclusion of the wigwam – and that without her sisters mental support! For the first time in weeks she was inwardly gleaming with pride. However, meeting the staring looks on all those strange faces already was adding up too much, so she turned her gaze to take in the surrounding camp instead. About a dozen dome-shaped wigwams were situated in a slightly wooded area next to a big lake. Its opposite rim was densely populated with pines and deciduous trees. Beyond the lake wooded hills rolled on further into the distance. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Apart from the camp the area seemed totally deserted. A few of the wigwams had little campfires of their own besides the big one she was currently sitting in front of. The nearest house was oblong-shaped and bigger than the other wigwams. She guessed this spot functioned as a meeting place for tribal functions. Next to the house stood a large tree trunk that was carved out in the shape of a wolf. Everywhere in the proximity of the camp proof of occupation was visible, although the purpose of most of the structures and implements escaped her.

Finally she peeked at the villagers. She saw men, women and children of different ages staring at her in a way that was respectively straight, curious and astonished. If she had thought their rescuers looked foreign, these men seemed to come from another world, which in a way was true. With the appearance of their attackers in the back of her mind she had been a little afraid to face the braves here. And indeed they looked rather terrifying. Apart from the children and boys most of the men's heads were shaven, leaving only a scalp lock of approximately two inches wide down the center of their heads. Some had even decorated it with a large feather, while others scalp locks stood up stiffly, as if smeared with some kind of grease, bringing a fierce semblance about. Yet the difference was all in the eyes; where the savages had beheld her with a murderous gaze, the facial expression of these braves was not unfriendly.

Apart from a belt, breechcloth and shoes all made of animal hide most were naked which enabled her to detect strangely shaped decorations on their skin. In fact, she was exposed to such amounts of naked flesh she did not know where to settle her eyes on. Compared to these men Uncas's clothing almost looked familiar and she suddenly wondered where he was. She looked around to find him busy working on some sort of wooden structure with his father a little further away. He was wearing a blue colored tunic and only now was she able to see he too wore a breechcloth while buckskin leggings covered his legs. He did not look up from his occupations and Alice could not help but feel disappointed by his apparent lack of interest in her. Although her sisters admission earlier that he had rescued her life had left her clueless how to react to this, his current attitude was almost unbearable. She did not understand why this should bother her though.

Chafing inwardly, she lowered her head and frowned as she looked at her own bare lower legs. They had never been exposed this way outside the privacy of her old bedroom. All of a sudden they seemed very white compared to all that dark skin around her. She swallowed uncertain. She had no idea what had become of her English dress. This morning, Nagamao had given her a knee length tunic to wear and had made her remove her shift. She had tried to hold onto it, but Nagamao had been unrelenting. Alice knew it had to be washed sooner or later and had eventually decided that the sooner this would be the sooner she could wear it again. She had taken it off reluctantly while trying to cover her nudity with her hands, but the woman's face was vacant as ever as if she was not in the least interested in the bare skin of a puritan white girl.

In the meantime Imala had aired out her bed. The old woman, whom she had mistaken for a prophet, had been there too. After Cora's departure she had settled in the wigwam with them. By now she knew her to be Imala's grandmother.

Once she had regained her self-control she looked up again. As she watched all these extraordinary faces watching her, she did not know what she was expected to do, so she just smiled, hoping it would be explained as a gesture of her appreciation of their hospitality. They did not smile back.

All of the women and girls around her were dressed in knee-length deerskin skirts, but where some of them wore a simple tunics to complete their outfit, the upper body of others to her horror lacked clothing altogether, their breasts only being covered with a shawl or what looked like turkey feathers. She decided right there and then she certainly would never follow this dress code, however insistent Nagamao might be.

After a while, Imala introduced her fellow camp members by means of pointing and saying their names. Alice tried to remind all those aberrant series of syllables by repeating them loudly, which caused the women to initially giggle behind their hands but later on to frankly burst out in such boisterous laughter it eventually made her laugh too, albeit on the wrong side of her mouth. Clearly her pronunciation needed some more work.

During this jovial acquaintance the children slowly drew nearer, as if their bashfulness decreased according to the volume of laughter until they were standing in a close circle around her. With shameless curiosity they observed her, very unlike the way she herself had been raised. One of them even hesitantly touched her hair, but was reprimanded casually by a woman who had been introduced to her as Chumani. She kind-heartedly chased away the children and handed her a ladle filled with some kind of hot soup. She looked expectantly at her as if saying please go ahead. Alice took over the spoon, at the same time unable to take her eyes off the baby boy wrapped up in buckskin against her body. In spite of the noise the baby was in deep slumber, his dark eyelashes spread like fans against his cheeks, a tiny fist clutched at the buckskin. The way he looked made Alice instantly want to hug him, but clearly it was too soon for such privileges.

She brought the spoon towards her mouth hesitantly and took a sip. The natives looked at her with anticipation as she swallowed. It tasted good and she smiled out of reflex, looking back at them shyly. Suddenly she wished major Heyward was still alive to witness this utterance of friendliness, as she remembered hearing him brag to her sister whilst travelling most Indians were very hostile and would kill any white at first sight. But then she was ashamed of this thought, since the first Indians they had encountered had actually killed him and his men during the act of defending her and her sister. She shook her head as to chase away the images it provoked.

All of a sudden, the circle of people around her recoiled to give a man berth to walk through and then Uncas appeared in front of her, holding up the wooden frames he had been working on just now, which purpose eluded her, though the determent expression on his face told her he had constructed them for her benefit. Returning the empty ladle she looked questioningly at him while trying to figure out what it was she was supposed to do with them. She identified a part of it as the branch he had carried into in the wigwam yesterday. Each of the two devices was composed by two straight branches that were bent and entwined together below. Halfway, the branches were kept separate by a chunk rectangular placed in between. On top, another chunk shaped like an upwards crescent moon and covered with soft hide had been attached to it with twine. As she remained seated, he handed the devices over to Chumani who was standing next to him and lifted her effortlessly with his hands under her armpits till she was standing up. She was not prepared for him touching her and looked up in confusion, but his dark eyes did not reveal anything. Once more, she was surprised by the warmth his hands emitted through the thin material of her tunic. She now refused to look into his eyes and kept hers straight at his chest. When she was standing up he supported her with one arm around her waist while taking back one of the frames from Chumani and placing it under her armpit, after which he put the other one under her other armpit, the whole time not speaking one word. Then he slowly released and retreated, removing his hands around her waist lastly. He took a step back and gestured her with his curved hand to come towards him. Out of their own her hands found the rectangular chunks and she lifted herself to move to him, but as she had not placed the crutches in front of her she started falling towards him. Swiftly he took a step to catch her. She blushed at the way she was pressed against his chest and lowered her eyes out of embarrassment. By now, she thought she could dream the view of his chest. After he had steadied her he released her again by taking a step back once more.

Alice pressed her lips together in determination. This time, she understood she had to move the bottom of the poles a step in front of her before she could repeat the motion up and forward. Thus she moved into his direction and stayed on her feet. Again Uncas withdrew a step, waiting for her to come forward and once more she stepped towards him. Comprehending the concept by then she was able to move so swiftly he had to take a step aside so she would not bump onto him.

She could walk! The crutches enabled her to walk again. She cast off her anxiety and with her eyes firmly fixed on the ground in front of her and her tongue pressed between her lips she hobbled a few rounds amongst the natives with her new pair of extra legs, elated with her newly found freedom.

Then she halted, trying to recall a similar occasion on which anybody had helped her like this but nothing came to mind. She searched around for Uncas and found him standing a bit further away, studying her moves with his arms crossed over his chest, his head slightly cocked and a ghost of a smile on his lips. However faint it was, she had never seen him this carefree before and for the first time in her life, Alice experienced what it felt if one's heart skips a beat.


	10. Chapter 10

Imala pointed at herself before stretching out both hands, showing her palms while all fingers were widely spread up in the air. Then she made two tight fists, before unfolding one and raising five fingers up again. She spoke in her native tongue. Then she gestured at Alice questioningly, who started smiling in delight. How was this possible? They shared the same age! With her forefinger indicating herself, she repeated the word Imala had just said, mimicking her sound and hand moves. Imala understood, for her face split in a wide smile too. For a moment she wondered how the natives could even be cognizant of their own age and how they counted the passing of days, months or years, since she had not witnessed any proof of written documents yet and she herself had lost track already of the number of days that had gone by since regaining consciousness. Suddenly she was frustrated by the language barrier; there was still a yawning gap between her ignorance and the knowledge she yearned for. She tried to summon up patience from somewhere deep inside her.

Leaning on her crutches she had spent the last days following Imala around the camp during her many chores, almost like a puppy. She would direct her finger or the lower end of one of her canes - they proved to be quite useful for this purpose too - at various items which happened to be nearby and then Imala would say the Indian word for it before Alice repeated it, which was not easy at all with the Indian taste for multi-syllabled words. However, for both it turned out to be a leisurely game to play and it had yielded her a tiny vocabulary already and its size detracted nothing of its value to her. She could even count till ten in the new language, to which the number of fifteen could now be added too. Also, she was glad of the strain it appealed to her mind, as the distraction diminished her thoughts of and worries about her sister. Nonetheless, the image of Cora kept lingering on the edge of her mind all day.

Presently, both fifteen year olds were settled on the border of a stream a short walk away from the village, Imala on her knees next to a bundle of clothes that needed to be washed while Alice was sitting on a rock nearby. Annoyed by her inability to contribute Alice gestured she liked to help, but Imala waved her good intentions dismissively aside.

The crystal clear water gushed and glided its way down along a rocked river-bed on a gradually sloped hill. Small trees and shrubs surrounded them and she even saw a wild rose coiling up in between, although it was not blooming yet. The fresh water made her realize how long it had been since she had washed her hair. She waited for Imala to finish before she put a hand on her arm to catch her attention, while she touched her own hair and gestured at the now clean pile of wet clothes. Imala looked back at her in doubt, assessing the splint attached to her leg. Then she assented and pointed to the ground. Then it was Alice's turn to look doubtful. But after Imala had demonstrated what she had in mind, she lifted herself off her seating stone and untied her hair. Then she lay down on the grass next to the stream with the back of her head towards the stream. Imala pulled her closer to the water and supported her head above the surface. Alice was able to see the blue firmament above her, irregularly decorated with white dotted clouds, although the peacefulness of this image suddenly got interrupted when she felt the ice cold water against the back of her head. After her skin got used to the coolness, she started to relax while Imala dipped her head in the water and rinsed her hair out in the stream. She listened to the sound of the rushing water, the nearby birdsong and the rustling of the leaves in the wind further above. Mesmerized, she closed her eyes and imagined herself flying away like a bird in the sky, looking down at the lake and the trees and the people below her. She suddenly wondered what it would be like to live here.

"Òphùkòn? Òphùkòn!"

It took a while before Alice realized that name meant her, as Imala only yesterday had explained it was their word for white hair. Being caught in daydreaming, she quickly opened her eyes. Had she really drifted off in broad daylight? Lying like this? Thinking how irritated Cora usually reacted to this habit, she peeked at Imala guiltily only to find a pair of dark eyes looking down at her waggishly.

With some effort she came upright and started wringing out her hear with her hands, feeling wonderful and fresh again, to which the coldness of the water surely had attributed too. Grateful she turned to point inquisitive at Imala's braid, but the girl only shook her head disdainfully before she darted off to a part of the stream further below where a few larger boulders obstructed the water's easy flow, originating in a deeper basin, into which one could immerse oneself wholly. To Alice's shock she discarded her clothes speedily on the ground and without further ceremony splashed into the water. Quickly, Alice averted her eyes from the naked girl. Did these people had no sense of propriety? To undress oneself before her eyes as if it was the most common thing in the world!

Then she screamed as an ice-cold squirt of water came down on her body. Surely she did not dare- She turned in indignation only to receive a splash at her front anew. She saw Imala looking at her saucily before she quickly stepped out of the water and put on her clothes again.

* * *

Uncas was sitting next to Ahusaka in front of the wigwam he shared with his father and the young brave. He was assisting Kele who was busy weaving a net of thin branches and saplings intended to catch fish, while Ahusaka looked approvingly at the two of them working, chewing on a piece of corn bread which he had just wheedled out of one of the women. Uncas had been astonished by the amounts of food the young male was able to consume, until he remembered amused how he himself had been hungry constantly only a few years back. When he looked up he was able to see even from this distance the perspired unclothed torso of his father while he was clearing a piece of land further away with two other males by using only their tomahawks.

"Soooo, how long you gonna stay this time?" Kele asked.

Uncas contemplated. "Don't know. Depends on my brother's return," he said evasively.

"Still think it's madness he went to the fort with dark hair alone."

Uncas did not respond.

"And what about the other one, white hair?" Kele persisted.

"What about her?" Uncas's voice was wary.

"In case you hadn't noticed, my little sister is towing her along all day teaching our tongue. Once she can speak it, she might not want to go back at all," he jested.

Uncas did not respond to that either, not knowing how he would feel if this would occur.

Suddenly the subjects of their conversation appeared back in camp. Uncas had been wondering where they had gone, having not seen them for a while. It had made him uneasy and he would have liked someone other than him point out the dangers to the white girl as her whereabouts surely should not be _his_ responsibility. But apparently no other shared his concern.

However, he was glad the crutches he had constructed turned out to be useful. She was able to keep up easily with Imala as he watched her move agile. Her hair was loose now and it wavered around her upper body as the breeze caught it playfully. Both she and Imala's looked lighthearted too. While Imala headed for the Long House she hobbled to the center of camp and then seated herself on the big rock. He had noticed this had become her favorite spot these last days. He watched her stare over the lake, while she combed her hair with her hand absent-mindedly in the meantime. One of the younger girls approached her and touched her shoulder hesitantly. Startled she turned to look at the girl, who showed her something in her hand; what is was Uncas was not able to see. She smiled and raised her brows. Then Imala joined them and inspected the utensil in the young girls hands, before he heard her speak in a superior way, pointing towards the lake. The girl hurried away only to return moments later, drying her hands and the tool with her skirt. Then she went to stand behind the seated girl and started combing the long pale hair prudently. Each time the comb hit a snag he saw the owner of the hair twitch a little but apart from that she did not move. When it was finally finished she smiled appreciative while saying the youngster's name, which earned her a proud look.

He turned his eyes away from the domestic scene only to end up in Kele's, who was watching him amused. Uncas fixed his upon his task again.


	11. Chapter 11

The cramp in her fingers became gradually worse, but she was determined not to capitulate to this inconvenience.

Together with some of the villagers, Alice was settled in the tribal house. Cast off moccasins were placed in a row next to the entrance. Outside it was softly drizzling and every object within sight was shining from wetness. The sky was evenly grey and showed no indication of forthcoming improvement.

Up till now, the Indians had spent most of their time outdoors and used their little houses only for sleeping, so she had not been inside the Long House. It was surprisingly spacious. It was dim inside, but she was able to see the structure was the same as the wigwam she shared with Imala and her mother and grandmother, only rectangular shaped. Although it had been raining all day, not a single drop had succeeded to worm its way through the cover, but for the hole in the roof, through which they could fall down freely, causing the fire below to sizzle occasionally.

So far, none of the women had let her help with their many daily chores, as in silent conspiracy. Instead, Alice had walked around the camp, watching them. When she was not shadowing Imala, she would sit on her flat stone in the center of the camp. Sitting there most of the time, somewhat constraint in her range of action, Alice would look around and watch the activities in the little village.

One of the women would always tend the big fire on which food of various origins was being heated, boiled, cooked or stewed in a large pot. Her favorite food required elaborate preparation. It consisted of fish, fowl or small game covered in a thick layer of clay. This was subsequently placed in the embers and covered with ashes and glowing coals. Then the fire was built up over the mound. After a considerable waiting period the roast was taken from the embers and the clay was broken with a stick and pulled off, the scales, feathers or fur coming with it. The final result would be crusty on the outside, yet soft and tender on the inside. It usually made her mouth water.

Not all of the food was equally tasty, but she had noticed the natives did not dwell on the end result on such occasions whereas they praised the dishes that were fit to serve any gourmet. Used to the frequent bickering of the women among whom she had grown up – aside from her sister, that was – this demeanor was fresh to her and she decided she liked it.

Today she had finally discovered a task she knew she could cope with. She was sitting on a log with a firm piece of wood resting on her left upper leg on which she was crushing hazelnuts with a smooth round stone before she passed the exposed cores along to her neighbor who would grind them with a mortar and a pestle. This girl, Alsoomse was her name, was the reason Alice kept her mouth firmly shut so no complaint could pass it, although her hands were aching due to the repetitive movement. Alice guessed she was a year older than she was. For a young woman she was muscled, even by Indian standards and she had often seen her in the company of the young males, similarly equipped with bow and arrows. Compared to the crushing of the cores of the nuts into oil, which task her neighbor performed effortlessly - as if she had never been doing anything else, Alice's job was easy. And as she did not want to come across as a weakling, she continued to slowly but steadily decrease the pile of nuts on the ground in front of her. She suddenly wished Cora could see her now.

However, her fingers were not the only body parts afflicted by cramps today. Since waking up, an unfamiliar pain in her belly had nagged her. Her chest also ached. She did not know what to make of it. She had never heard Cora complain about such a discomfort. Bashful, she had secretly touched her tender mounds this morning, wondering what could be the cause of their agony. All of a sudden she had missed her sister and the sisterly advice she could have provided her with dearly.

The amicable chattering of the women around her roused her from her reverie. Although she hardly understood a word of it, sitting here amongst them somehow suggested she was part of a community. It was comforting. Sheltering from the rain and sitting close to a mirthful fire added up to her contentment.

She reached out for a new hazelnut to deprive it of its shell, before she passed it on and then started looking at the natives around her. While the women were sitting on one side, the men resided at the other end. Next to the elder whom she assumed to be the village chief as all the natives regarded him the most respectful, Chingachgook was sitting. He and the chief were sharing a long pipe, in turn inhaling deeply and obviously savoring the concentration of tobacco in their lungs before they blew out the smoke. Uncas sat beside his father, manufacturing some tool out of animal bone. His long black hair fell down along his face. So far, they had not shared one single conversation. How strange, she thought while she dreamily bashed on another nut, to have exchanged some foreign words with the natives already, but to never have spoken with the man she not only had met earlier but with whom she could have talked easily in her native speech as well. It made her wonder if this omission was due to her awkwardness with men in general or if his silent nature contributed to it as well. Occasionally, she had seen him glance at her. Every time this happened she quickly averted her eyes, uncomfortable under his close examination. To give him credit, he was not the only one. Especially the children would stare at her uninhibited. She tried not to be bothered with it and told herself she would have to get used to it. Or perhaps it would fade in time. She could not even resent them, as she herself was curious about them too. And sometimes Imala would hush the children away. The girls protectiveness towards her was rather endearing. As a matter of fact, she had gotten quite fond of her, which surprised her since she had never had a friend like this back home. Perhaps it was Imala's unassuming way that put her at ease. She never once corrected her for sitting inappropriate or dressing improperly or looking impertinent. It was quite agreeable for a change.

"Òphùkòn…."

Hearing her name halted her line of thought abruptly. She felt a hand on her stretched leg that belonged to the woman sitting cross-legged in front of her and who was gesticulating to her lower limbs. Alice followed her gaze to discover a red trace slowly trickling down along the inside of her leg. For a moment she just stared at the flowing thick moist, unable to understand what is was doing on her leg and where it came from. The skin on her arms en neck contracted as she became aware of a wetness around her private parts. What was happening to her? Had she survived an ambush only to die in an Indian village? She had her heart in her mouth as the blood reached her bare foot and could not hold back a shrill shriek as it started dripping on the woven rush mat on the floor, but other than that was incapable of doing anything other than gaze at the slowly increasing red stain in absolute horror.

She hardly felt the hands on her upper arm, squeezing her. Dazzled she looked up into the sympathetic face of Chumani, who tried to lift her gently, but she just shook her head in disbelief.

Under gentle pressure she led herself be guided outside by Chumani and Nagamao.

* * *

Alice was lying in her bed. Sleep would not come though. She stared at the hole in the roof, through which an occasional drop of rain kept falling into the little fire below.

Imala's grandmother had stroked her cheek before she stretched and fell asleep immediately, but Alice did not think she could, no, _wanted_ to be comforted right now. She felt betrayed. Betrayed and angry. Why had Cora never prepared her for the distress every woman supposedly went through? Surely she had endured the same physical discomfort Alice was feeling right now. Had been equally confused.

She thought of the books in her fathers library back home. Of all the knowledge they possessed. She had read about the crusades and the discovery of silk, the explorations of Marco Polo to Central Asia and China and she could even rattle off both singular and plural forms of all four cases of the Greek word for slave amongst many others. Yet when her body had indicated the transition to womanhood she had been completely ignorant. Totally unprepared. Up till now, she had been proud of her erudition. Not many girls had had the privileges that were bestowed on her, even in the upper middle class. She had not felt superior to the Indians - savages as they were called back home. Not exactly. But she had thought her presence here could contribute to their ways. Add something valuable.

Well, today certainly proved that to be wrong. How presumptuous had she been, she thought surly. All she was, was a naive white girl.

Suddenly she felt a hand grasp hers. She turned her head to find Imala watching her, lying beside her on her side with her elbow pillowed under her head, compassion on her face. Alice looked back without really seeing her before she started to pull her hand away, but Imala's small but strong hand would not let go. She squeezed Alice's hand, before she turned on her back and looked upwards. Alice followed her gaze. They both laid there, staring at the roof, lost in thought. When they fell asleep, their fingers were still entangled.


	12. Chapter 12

Alice was staring out across the lake. It had finally stopped raining and the water was smooth like a mirror. The trees along the opposite rim and the hills further away were being reflected in its surface, reproducing a perfect yet reversed image. It made her wish she was an artist, skilled to grasp the beauty of it.

Thoughts of her sister had consumed her all day. Her anger of before had disappeared, yet to be replaced by worry. Cora and Nathaniel had been gone for what she assumed were two weeks now. She really could not tell, time was so hard to keep track of in a place like this. At home she always had been able to tell time just by looking at the beautifully decorated clock that stood flaunting on their mantelpiece, but the memory of the sophisticated bell striking the hours away was already fading. As if this new environment disapproved of such frivolousness. As it should, she thought bitter. How could it be the sound of a clock she was deriving consolation from when she should be worrying about her sister instead. She pressed her lips together.

Cora had said they would reach the fort in about a week. That meant she would have joined her father by now and perhaps a rescue party was being assembled right this moment. But what if something had happened? What if more savages had crossed their path? What if-

"They will be alright." A deep voice behind her interrupted her line of thought. Startled, she almost fell in the water over which she had been looking. She had not heard Uncas approach. He seemed to have the ability to walk silent as a deer. Luckily her crutches could serve now as an extra pair of legs. When she had regained her balance she turned to look at him.

He came standing beside her and observed the lake.

"How do you know?" She said, wondering about his other ability to know exactly what she was thinking of.

"He is my brother," he said, still gazing out on the water. "He will keep her safe." Somehow his confidence did not seem arrogant.

Alice let out a sigh and resumed her look over the landscape in front of her. With all her heart she hoped he was right.

The whooshing sound of two wild geese skimming over the water surface disturbed the quiet lake. Their raspy shrieks lingered on. She watched them fly by and land further ahead. Behind her, the distant laugh of one of the women echoed away.

It was the first time Uncas was actually speaking to her and she was very aware of his presence beside her. Her shoulder almost touched his arm. It made her feel uncomfortable all of a sudden. She had not seen him these last days, determined to avoid him after her embarrassment in the Long House. She wondered if he had been avoiding her too, finding her company equally awkward.

As the splashing sound of the birds gradually died away she looked aside and was surprised to find him studying her face. His gaze dropped to her cheekbones and she saw a wondering expression appear. She pressed one of the crutches under her armpit so her hand was free to touch her face and feel if any leftovers from dinner had somehow stayed behind, but could find none.

He kept staring. "What are those?" He asked, nodding his head towards her cheeks.

She frowned in confusion, not understanding what he was referring to.

"Those little dots," he clarified.

Realization dawned on her. Her skin being exposed to high amounts of sunlight lately had probably aroused her freckles to appear. Since she did not have a mirror at her disposal she had no idea what she looked like anymore.

She blushed, turning her head towards the lake once more. Was he teasing her? His voice had sounded genuine though. Then she appreciated he probably had never seen them before, with the native skin being so smoothly tanned.

"Freckles," she almost whispered, looking down at her feet. "Where I come from, one is certainly not happy having them."

"Why not?"

"In England a woman is only considered beautiful if her skin is solidly blank," she answered.

"I disagree," he said.

She looked up in surprise, but before she had a chance to respond, he was already walking away, enforcing her to look at his back, leaving her behind confusion.


	13. Chapter 13

She once had read that the indigenous people of the new world were almost completely self-supporting, but not after seeing it herself Alice could truly appreciate what it implied. Having spent a few weeks at the camp she noticed everything the Indians put to use was composed of the gifts nature provided them with. She saw animal skin being transformed into clothing or covers, sinew and gut into sewing thread, reeds into baskets or mats, turtle shell into bowls or cups, clay from the river bed into pottery jars, animal bone into all sorts of tools or utensils. To witness this miraculous metamorphosis was not difficult, achieving it was. She studied the women's housework for hours and tried to imitate their movements, but the fruits of labor often turned out differently in her hands than in those of the natives. She truly was a beginner.

She also could not get over the sense of freedom her new attire provided her, having been restrained by whalebones, laces and many layers of skirt for almost as long as she could remember. She was stunned by its smoothness and flexibility. One day, Imala had returned in their wigwam carrying her English dress, freshly washed though hopelessly wrinkled and had laid it down in a corner rather contemptuously, as if wearing it here again would be considered as an act of disrespect. Or perhaps, knowing Imala, she had just been baffled by its impracticality. Having spent these last weeks in the camp Alice had reached that same conclusion herself. Therefore, she had decided not to wear it anymore, apart from her shift that proved to be a perfect nightgown. It made her ponder the differences between what she now considered as her old life and her present one. Before arriving at this place she never had worked a day in her life, while her torso had endured physical punishment on a daily basis. Coming to the Indian village had reversed that situation. Thinking about it made her smile.

With the rain gone and the weather producing beautiful days with still agreeable temperatures, the surrounding nature relished in the climax of spring and was heading full speed towards summer. The bright green color characteristic for early spring was followed by a darker green hue. All around, bird romance was in the air. Alice noticed the natives too seemed to warm up to the notion of her being there.

A few days ago, Chingachgook had examined her leg and to her great relief had removed the splint, telling her it had healed sufficiently. The first thing she had done once he had finished was dart off to the stream she knew and step into it. She made sure not to skip a single part of her body whilst washing. Standing there in the still cold water with her liberated leg almost made her feel wild and free as Imala, though she was not similarly brazen in taking her clothes off. However, this little escapade earned her a firm reprimand by Nagamao for leaving the camp on her own. During her lecture she saw the older woman furtively glance in the direction of her saviors which made Alice guess her sister had left those two with clear instructions she was to be guarded at all times. Cora most certainly had overdone it, for Alice could not see any harm coming from an innocent stroll in the woods near the camp, although she kept this conviction to herself and made sure to stay inside the boundaries of the settlement afterwards. Nevertheless, the enticement of the now forbidden forest and its flora and fauna lingered on.

Presently, she and one of the younger girls were busy chopping the bark of an oak tree with a celt made of a coarse stone. Once it would be pulverized adequately, hot water would be added and turn it into a fluid suitable to tan hides. Although she was glad she could assist, it was a tedious job and her back still ached from helping the women sow corn seeds in the newly cleared land yesterday.

In an effort to break the ice she had initiated her usual way of communicating by ways of pointing and sound mimic, but the young girl, whose name was Onatah, gave no indication she wanted to participate in playing the word game the way Imala would have. Alice guessed she was just being timid, so she abandoned her attempts and looked around for some other distraction. Nearby, a few of the younger boys were practicing with their bows and arrows. A flat piece of bark hanging in a tree a bit further away served as target. As she watched the boys playing, she perceived a touch of sternness in their attitude already. Apparently, their play was not only about having fun, but prepared them also in providing for their future wives. Furthermore, she sensed they admired strength and liked to compete with one another.

As they got wind of her spotting them they gave each other a nudge before drawing together in conspiracy. The outcome was the boldest one, who remarkably did not seem to be the oldest one, casually came over to offer her his bow politely, yet with an unmistakable mischievous expression on his face. It was obvious he was curious to see how that Yengeese girl would react to such a provocation.

At first, that Yengeese girl just looked back at him speechless. Did he really want _her_ to take a shot? Then she decided to take up the gauntlet. Her dignity was at stake here. She suspected the boys, who were obviously a various number of years her junior, would never take her serious again if she did not rise to this challenge. She accepted the bow and walked back with the roguish boy to the other two, trying to appear casual as if she had never done anything else. She could hardly suppress a smile imagining herself standing in their fragrant rose garden back home, holding a bow and aiming at a target next to the arbour in which tea drinking and biscuits eating guests would admire her shooting skills in the meantime. Wonderful!

Shaking off the illusion, she reached the spot where the two lesser brave ones were standing looking rather incredulous she had actually risen to the bait. She looked in doubt at the device she was holding. It was a crude bow made of pliable wood to which a twisted thong of deerskin was attached. The smallest boy handed her an arrow of which she placed the nock in the middle of the string. There was no way back now.

She straightened her shoulders and assumed a shooting stance, hoping it resembled the posture she had seen them take, while blowing away some loose strands of hair out of her face. Then she raised and draw the bow, which proved to be harder than she had imagined it to be. The tautly strained cord between the bow's ends caused her arms to tremble from exertion. How on earth could this be a child's play, she wondered.

With a whooshing sound she released the arrow only to see it end up in the neighboring bushes far away from the target. The boys burst out in laughter. By then some of the smaller children had spotted what was going on and drew closer excitedly. Humiliated, she looked at everyone having fun at her expense, only to join them moments later reluctantly in their glee; The laughter of some of the little ones was so contagious.

That was until she staggered feeling hands from behind land on her shoulders. She had not heard someone approach and in a flash the memory of her abduction returned. However, these hands were gentle and when she turned she saw the familiar chest of Uncas. She looked up only to see him gaze down on her while his expression revealed nothing.

What was he doing?

He nodded his head towards the bow first and to the target secondly. She perceived his intentions and resumed the position of which she assumed it to be the correct shooting stance. His hands brushed her hips and pressed them lightly to adjust her posture. With one foot he separated hers until they were shoulder-width apart.

"Point the bow towards the ground," he told her while handing her a new arrow from behind.

His hands covered hers to correct the position of her fingers until the nock of the arrow was between her index finger above and her middle and ring fingers below.

"Now raise and draw the bow."

She followed his directions and felt him placing his hands underneath her arms in order to balance them into the right line. The touch of his palms on her bare skin was light as a feather. He pushed her right shoulder a nudge down and took a step back before he returned to raise her chin a little with his finger.

"Look at the target. Forget everything else," his deep voice breathed in her left ear. She could sense his presence all along the back of her body.

"Then release," he said, before taking back a step.

She tried to do as he had just indicated. She looked at the target, trying to block out everything around her. The muscles in her arms and right shoulder began to tremble from the continuous strain. Just before she released the arrow, she heard one of the boys make a remark in a condescending tone. The arrow vanished in the surrounding bushes once more.

The boys laughed outright again, but one glance of Uncas silenced them instantly. She suddenly noticed Alsoomse watching them too from a distance, looking rather disapprovingly.

"Again." His voice still did not show any sign of amusement.

With a flushed face she took a new arrow.

She resumed the position he had shown her. Once more, he corrected her almost casually. She peered at the target before she slowly took in a deep breath. Then she breathed out and focused entirely on the target, imagining its center to be a focal point. She could see how the wrinkles in the piece of bark flowed like ripples on the water. She drew the string hands towards her face, commanding the muscles in her arms and shoulder to obey. She could feel they already had toughened from the physical strain of the last week.

She released her fingers from the bowstring and the feather attached to the end of the arrow flicked along her cheek. She lowered the bow to see the arrow she had just released sticking out of the center of the target. She kept looking at it, not understanding what had just happened. For a moment it was completely silent. The boys too kept quiet. Alsoomse walked away.

She turned around to look at Uncas. His gaze was warm and he almost seemed to smile. He raised his hand palm upwards as in request to hand him the bow. She took a step towards him and placed it in his hand, their fingers touching. The bow suddenly looked rather small. Clearly it had been made to fit an adolescent.

Then Uncas himself took position. In a fluid motion he raised and drew the bow. Alice had not stepped back yet and was still standing very close to his back. She could see the smooth skin in his neck where a dark string of hair was tied at the back of his head. She suddenly noticed he wore a tear-shaped silver earring. She did not know why, but she obeyed a frolic impulse popping up in her head. Just before he released the arrow she nudged his right arm with her chest, causing the arrow leaving his bow to land the same way as her first two attempts.

For a moment it was completely silent, before the boys started to smirk. When Uncas turned around she expected him to look angry or at least disapproving, yet all she saw was a glint of surprise in his eyes before he blanked his expression again. She stared back innocent, her brows slightly raised. Knowing she could not keep a straight face any longer, she returned to the job still awaiting her, leaving him behind in a cloud of child's laughter.

As she walked away, she felt his gaze burn on her back. Her face broke into a wide smile, knowing this round belonged to her.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Thanks again for the nice comments from those of you who are so kind to take the effort to review. I really appreciate it!_


	14. Chapter 14

She was in the middle of a dream when a familiar urge squirmed its way in to nestle itself between the strange images and scenes she was undergoing. Being asleep her mind was able to ignore the pressure for a while, but as it got more and more persistent, Alice woke up. Unwilling, she opened her eyes to find she could hardly see in the dark with the embers in the fire pit only smouldering faintly.

She groaned inwardly. Moments like these made her wish she were back in her comfortable bed back home where she only had to retrieve the bed pan from underneath it to relieve herself. She let out a soft sigh. There was no such luxury in the wild. Perhaps she could convince her present housemates of its benefits, though she already knew this attempt would be futile; They were not troubled by this inconvenience as they seemed to possess rigid bladder control. She groaned again, out loud this time while sitting up. Startled by the way the sound reverberated in the thick night air she quickly looked around. Had she awoken the others? She remained quiet for a while before she slowly let out the breath she had been holding as she perceived the continuing slumber of the forms covered by furs, Imala's beside her and the two elder women's on the opposite side of the fire. Softly she rose while checking in a flash what she was wearing - one never knew whom one might encounter even at this hour - and her hand met the flimsy fabric of her shift, but as she realized it would be hard to find anything at all in this blackness she yielded to her laziness and decided it should do for now. She quickly put on the moccasins Imala's grandmother had made especially to fit the narrow shape of her feet and pushed away the entrance flap to step outside.

The still cool air instantly brought on goose bumps on her skin. Now she was outside, she could see it had to be early morning for the sky already had begun to color, but no other than her was up yet. Nevertheless, it felt odd to stand there in her shift this time of day as she had never been outside the wigwam this early and certainly not dressed like this. Her long hair, that always came loose somewhere during the night, was stroking her cheeks and she tucked it behind her ears to make sure she would instantly hear the moment anything - or anyone - out of the ordinary came by.

Taking in her surroundings made her decide to ignore her bodily demand a little longer and set out to the lake first, in the meantime crossing her arms in front of her chest so the warmth of her hand palms could smooth the chilled skin of her upper arms. When she had reached the rocky shore she gazed out across the water, wondering if she truly had woken up. A layer of mist was hanging above the surface as in sweet caress. The hills beyond seemed to have lost their footing as they rose above the fog. The morning air was void of sound and breeze and a pink glow was all around. Just when she thought she had grown accustomed to the beauty of this place it offered a new panorama to swipe her off her feet anew.

She stood motionless, almost in trance and would have continued to do so if it had not been for the building pressure in her lower body. She turned away reluctantly and headed into the direction she had to go, passing a few of the wigwams on her way. She smiled as she heard the snoring of some of the camp members, knowing its origin not only to be male. When she reached the rim of the woods she took the path to the place she needed to be. Having arrived at the spot she relaxed and released – still sleepily and when she finished she almost let out a sigh of relief for the bliss of an empty bladder.

As she straightened up she noticed the forest too lacked its usual daytime sounds. She started to head back, but somehow could not resist the lure of the wilderness. Giving in to this sensation, she progressed along the path in the opposite direction of the camp, ignoring the little voice inside her head that said she had never gone this far before and she should not be out here alone.

She followed the trail leading into the still hazily woods. The surrounding ferns and shrubs were covered with dew drops and the single thread of a spider hanging between two branches almost looked like a gemstone chain. Not a sound was in the air. Apparently the forestal inhabitants too were still in early morning slumber. As the woods pulled her in deeper, she almost felt like sleepwalking. It was an uncanny feeling for as she knew she was awake now she felt her body somehow float, as if her feet did not actually touch the ground.

After some time the path gradually narrowed before it ultimately ended. She stood still to find she was in a slightly wooded valley, the ground densely overgrown with ferns and tall grasses. Looking up to the branches and beyond she could still see a few faded stars sparkling in the sky as dawn drew near. She guessed it would be a beautiful day again.

Suddenly she sensed she was not alone anymore. She turned her head slowly to see a deer strolling through the grasses at close distance, still unaware of her presence. It was nibbling on a leave. Then it sensed her presence too, for it raised its head to look at her in surprise. Alice thought of the sight she must look. Surely this deer had never seen a sleepwalking ghost-like girl in its life before.

She made sure to stay completely immobile, even her breathing stopped as she watched the deer, wondering if it was real, hoping it would not run off.

As they had silently eyed each other for a while, the deer drew near, as if it had decided she was not a threat. Or perhaps just trusting its ability to escape easily if needed. It was female, perhaps two years old. She could see the light brown of its fur, the white spot on its head, its huge brown eyes. Out of its own accord her arm extended slowly towards it. Out of reflex the deer halted. Just when she thought it would dash off it took a step nearer, almost making her laugh in delight. While she stood motionless, it approached tentatively, constantly moving the nostrils of its moist nose. She reached out her fingers while the deer stretched its neck as if it was equally curious yet also afraid of her presence. Goose bumps emerged all over her arm as the deer's breath brushed along her fingertips. She wondered if it was possible for the deer to have the same physical experience as she.

Then the deer retracted and extended its neck elegantly to look behind her. As in trance Alice turned and followed its gaze to see what had startled it. At some distance, next to a tree, Uncas was standing, a rifle in his hand. The brows in his usually stoic face were slightly raised. She turned back towards the deer to find it had vanished. She had not even heard it flee. The enchantment was gone too.

She turned to Uncas again, only to find him standing in front of her now. Him too, she had not heard move. She looked at his chest, her mind still trying to switch from the mystical moment with the deer to the matter-of-factness of his musket.

"You shouldn't go this far from camp." His voice broke the silence and sounded flat, but as she looked up she saw his eyes were piercing.

She bent her head in rebuke, but looked up again as a spark of defiance rose in her chest. Who was he to tell her what she should do or not do?

"Why not?" It sounded bolder than she felt.

He looked genuinely surprised. "Do I need to explain? Have you forgotten so soon?"

She knew he was right and what he was referring to. Just then it dawned on her Cora had had nothing to do with Nagamao's admonition not to leave the camp on her own, it had been because of him all along. A wave of bashfulness swept over her and suddenly realizing the sight she must look to him, she turned to walk back, but he grabbed her arm to stop her, a sigh in his voice as he said her name. The warmth of his hand was in sharp contrast to the coolness of her skin.

She did not want him to see her angry tears, but looked up at his face nevertheless. His expression had changed and seemed almost tender now. Or did she only want it to be so?

Overwhelmed by emotions she pulled herself loose and walked back hurriedly, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand frustrated. As she reached the camp she found it was still dormant. Quickly she entered the wigwam and returned to her bed. The others had not woken up yet, for which she was glad, not wanting to explain her wet cheeks. She closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come back.


	15. Chapter 15

"Don't you make fun of her." Imala's voice sounded angry. "You have no idea what it's like for a woman."

"And you do?" Ahusaka's sneer did not pass unnoticed.

"Of course." Her whole body dissipated haughtiness.

They were silent for a moment before Imala continued; "Her sister is gone. Her father may be dead. Where's your compassion?"

"I have no sympathy for the white man," Ahusaka said gruffly. He was sitting near the edge of the lake, the usual chunk of corn bread in his hands, ready to take a bite.

Uncas and Chumani witnessed their altercation from up close, respectively busy pecking with a hammer stone onto another one to erode the cobble in the desired shape and weaving an undefinable animal out of last year's cornhusks for her baby boy to play with. Her husband Kele was toying the latter in his arms a bit farther away where the only canoe the tribe occasionally made use of was hauled halfway up the shoreline. Uncas was able to see by the way he cocked his head he was listening too.

It had started off with Ahusaka making an insolent remark about the white girl - or Òphùkòn, as everyone had started calling her. Although his comment had aroused Imala to react like a bull to a red flag, Uncas suspected the young male's reason for saying what he had was not because he held her in contempt, but to cover his interest in her. It could only take another man to see through him and perceive his true intentions.

"She _is_ no white man, she's a woman, she's alone and _you_ are acting like a mule." Imala's rage was building up now. She had been working with the same material her sister in law was currently using, only her aim was to assemble it into a pair of slippers, intended to be a nice surprise for her new English friend, whom she had noticed lately walking around camp with a forlorn expression on her face. However, her present indignation obviously inhibited continuing her labor, for it lay abandoned at her feet as she glared at the young male.

Ahusaka did not condescend to answer and looked straight ahead with a thick scowl on his face while chewing.

"What's going on?" Nobody had heard the subject of their quarrel approach.

Uncas turned to see the English girl standing at close range. She glanced uncertain at their faces and her question lingered in the air. He noticed she wore a new mid-thigh length dress leaving her arms and lower limbs bare which was fitted out better for the warmer weather. An uneven woven belt she clearly had made herself was tied high around her waist. It made her look less childlike and a glimpse of the woman she would become was already visible.

Although no one beside Uncas had understood the meaning of her question, their guilty faces clearly proved it was her they had been talking about. As nobody reacted a vertical fold between her brows appeared.

"Uncas?" It was the first time he heard his name pass her lips. It made his stomach churn surprisingly.

"Tell them I don't want them to argue because of me." She kept her eyes fixed on both Imala and Ahusaka.

Uncas remained silent.

"Uncas…..?" A beseeching tone seeped through the sound of her voice. She turned her head and settled her shining green eyes on him, nearly reduced to tears. He did not know how he would cope with that, but the need to worry dissolved as she turned around and took off as quietly as she had appeared.

Uncas still translated her message, feeling ill at ease.

* * *

That afternoon he saw his father approach her to say; "Come with me to harvest in the woods." He was carrying two buckets made of birch bark.

Uncas was just as taken by surprise at this directive as she was, but he could see how her initial frown smoothed out and relief nestled on her face instead. Clearly, she had no idea what the yield of his father's endeavor was supposed to be, but he sensed she would comply with any request made, glad for the distraction it offered.

He had perceived her agitation these last few days and he knew the reason for it too, as the cause was also troubling him. Why had their siblings not returned yet? He had every trust in his brothers ability to dodge whatever it was that delayed their return. However, a moon cycle had passed since he had briefly embraced him in goodbye before watching him leave with the dark-haired sister. As sure as he was that day followed night he knew something unexpected had happened and he felt contrite he was not there to help. If it had not been for her, he would have followed his brother to the fort already in the crescent moon.

He did not hold it against her though. Shortly after the bow and arrow practice, where she had risen up to the challenge of the boys and had stirred him so unexpectedly, she had asked him in a timid voice if he was prepared to accompany her to the fort to see for themselves what was taking them so long. Although he had been glad she had addressed him unprompted for the first time and relieved she apparently trusted him enough to even make such a request of him, he had grasped her upper arms tightly and told her firmly they were to do no such thing under any circumstances and simply had to rely on his brothers inventiveness in finding his way and her sister's back. His vehement words and his touch had frightened her, unmistakably, but she had nodded her head in acquiescence, though the look in her big eyes had contradicted her submission.

As he watched her rise to her feet to accompany his father, he got into action and quickly gathered his water gourd and musket before he jogged along in pursue. His knife and tomahawk were already secured to his body, the former to his upper arm, the latter into his belt behind his back.

"I'll come with you," he said at his father's back as he had caught up with them. Both stopped and turned their heads and where he saw surprise on his father's face, he saw relief on hers. He was able to withstand his father's keen look for the time it lasted until the older man sighed and turned to proceed.

The three of them continued along the path that would take them to the part where the river merged into the lake, his father in front, him at the rear with the girl in between. Soon they reached the bank of the river and while his father crossed the broad rocked river bed light-footedly, hopping from stone to stone across the flushing and foaming water, she hesitated. After he had crouched to hold his water gourd beneath the surface until it was full, he walked pass her to assist. She let him take her arm to guide her and they overcame the turmoil together as he pulled her behind him from one refuge towards the next. Thus, they arrived at the opposite side, where he released her arm to let her follow his father again.

For a while they progressed the trail running along the river bank upstream until his father departed the well-trotted path and turned to the right. Soon the rushing sound of the water died away while the air grew thick and the forest dense, preventing the three passers-by to see much of the blue canopy above. His father resumed a steady pace and she trotted along, for each of his strides taking two.

Small rays of sunlight filtered through the green of the leaves and brightened the forest floor. The warm air was scented lightly with the resin aroma from a sporadic pine and he deeply breathed in. It was shortly after midday and the woodland lacked birdsong, but for the monotonous sound he knew to belong to the small songbird with the uncanny red irises. He saw her peer from left to right to trace the feathered animal responsible for the endless repetitive question and answer tune, which made her long pale braid swing back and forth along her back. The bird however refused to show itself. It hardly ever did.

The path eventually narrowed until nothing more than a track for wild animals remained, along which they meandered ahead, occasionally bending their heads to avoid a low-hanging branch. After a while a faint sweetness filled the air. The trees consisted solely of maples now. At last the forest grew thin and they arrived at a section where attached to some of the trees buckets similar to the ones his father was carrying were attached against the vertically creased barks. The trunk his father stopped in front of displayed a V-shaped incision out of which concave pieces of bark ran into the container fastened to it. Some other trees however had been girdled and thus, floundering and failing to perform their limited function, they would eventually die, admitting more light into the woodland.

She looked around in wonder while moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue. He took off his water gourd and unplugged the cedar stopper before he held it in front of her face. Eagerly she nodded and grabbed it to take a long gulp.

"Thank you," she said returning the gourd, while her lips and chin remained wet. Apparently, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand did not correspond with her refinement.

"Wanishi," he corrected her amused.

She stared back, her brows contracted as in not understanding.

"The proper Indian word."

He watched with interest as a becoming blush colored her cheeks, before she lowered her eyes and bolted to where his father had started untying the buckets from the maple bark to transfer the fluid they contained into the ones he had brought along. She looked astonished at his nimble hands. "What are you doing? What is it for?"

His father walked to another tree and beckoned her closer. "Taste," was all he said while she approached. Uncas followed, seeing her face shine in disbelief.

"Taste," his father repeated while giving an encouraging nod towards the container.

She slowly dipped her index finger into the bucket and brought the fawning mass sticking to it in front of her mouth to lick it hesitantly with her tongue. Her brows almost met her hairline as she sensed the taste. "It's sweet!"

"Usually is." His father's voice sounded dry.

He helped his father emptying the other buckets until the new ones were filled halfway. The girl watched their moves curiously.

"I've never read about trees producing syrup," she confessed, looking dreamily.

Feeling uneasy by the way her lit up face captivated him he could not help himself but reproach her; "Not everything comes out of a book."

The light suddenly extinguished. "Apparently not," was her scornful answer.

They walked all the way back in silence. He could sense his father was amused by their little exchange of words, but he too did not breach the quietness.

After they had crossed the river again - where she refused to accept his aid this time and nearly lost her balance - the camp soon came into sight. At the front, his father halted abruptly. He noticed his shoulders tighten and just as the girl passed him to dart back to camp, his father turned to hiss with a taut face; "Mohawks!"


	16. Chapter 16

Before he even knew it his feet already had speeded forward to stop her. Her scream of surprise died against the palm of his right hand while his left arm circled around her waist. He pressed her close to keep her quiet, in the meanwhile looking beyond her hair at the camp farther away to see his father had been right. A group of approximately eight fierce Mohawk warriors was standing in the camp center, easy recognizable by the three upright eagle feathers on each of their heads. One of them, obviously their leader, carried a rifle, the rest was equipped with big arrows and bows attached to their backs. Although it was not beyond the realm of possibilities their coming to the camp served a peaceful purpose, every instinct told him to keep the white girl out of the visitors sight until they would leave again. Apparently, his father was of the same mind.

He felt her stiffen in his tight envelopment and it occurred to him he was holding her almost the same as that malicious Huron once had, although their intentions could not possibly diverge any further. He hoped she was sensible enough to know this, but brought his cheek against her hair to whisper a soft shushing sound in her ear anyway. He felt her body slacken against him in awareness. He did not soften his grip though, not while they were still within audible distance from the strangers. The hand of his father brushed his shoulder and he conceived his intention. He inched backwards with the girl in his arms until the huge trunk of a beech prevented them from being seen.

Slowly Uncas removed his hand and loosened his grip as he twisted her around in his arms to make sure her eyes acknowledged the vertical index finger he was holding on his lips. He noticed her pupils were dilated from anxiety, but she nodded almost imperceptibly and he released her quietly.

He gesticulated to his father he wanted to double-check if the Mohawks indeed had not heard her muffled holler and cautiously returned to the rim of the forest to take in the camp from up-close, sitting behind the foliage of some broad-leaved shrubs. To his relief he perceived no significant change in the group of men in front of him; all braves were still there and presently sitting cross-legged around the central fire among the larger part of the camp males. He saw neither women nor children and he suspected they were all inside the Long House or the wigwams to enable the men to confer outside by the fire.

The breath he had not known he had been holding slowly passed his lips. He knew the tradition of the numerous clashes between the Mohawk tribe and his own, which the coming of the white men had only invigorated, resulting the latter tribe ultimately tasting defeat. Because of the proximity of his hosts to the lands of the ferocious Mohawks it was inevitable they occasionally collided, sometimes resulting in battle. However, the last years their coexistence had been nonviolent, for what it was worth; He could never quite forget the abhorrent tales spreading among his people testifying of the mutual hatred and constant strife on both sides. These dictated him to conceal the young white woman. Although matters were bloodless now, some unanticipated motive could easily change this status quo, inducing both parties to take up arms. He certainly had no wish for the Mohawks to find out about her whereabouts in case they might consider her a stake to war. The thought of her regarded as such all of a sudden made his blood run cold.

While he observed the camp from his hiding position, he marveled at his father's intuition to bring her out of the camp precisely today. It made him wonder if he would dispose of a similar perceptivity if needed. He truly hoped he would. Survival could depend on it, which today proved once more. In his turn he was glad he had followed his hunch to come along as it enabled him to safeguard her now.

Without making as much of a sound or stirring a leave on the ground he withdrew backwards until he was far enough to turn around and head back to the two awaiting him.

* * *

Short deliberation between father and son after first catching sight of the braves of their adjacent kinship resulted them to retreat southward to hide in the woods. After he had offered the young female his water gourd once more and she had taken a few sips, they set out in the same manner as before, with his father in the lead and him behind the girl so he could keep both an eye on her as on the nearby terrain to ascertain they were still alone; Where there were eight Mohawks in camp, there might turn up more, although he was not really expecting such to happen. Still, he was watchful.

Somewhere during their unforeseen continuation the girls initial fear faded and she started peeking around once more, much the same as he, albeit with a different aim. With them juxtaposed at camp, he had noticed she was enthralled by the surrounding nature and the wildlife it harbored. He assumed her home ground looked quite different. However, not all forest creatures were benign, of which he hoped she was aware, though he feared she would even concede to large predators such as bear or wolf, to name a few which paths now and then crossed those of the natives. She was naïve enough to do so, he thought with a grim smile, and he could only wish he was around if such would occur.

As they paced further south, the forest slowly woke up from late afternoon slumber. Catching sight of two wildly squeaking red squirrels juggling between the branches in rollicking pursue made the white girl halt unexpectedly, causing him almost to bump onto her. As he quickly regained balance and stepped beside her, he was much entertained by the expression in her upturned face and eyes, in which the green of the foliage above was mirrored. Her look unmistakably revealed her enticement, so unlike the usual unfathomable features of his own people. Seeing her like this revoked the memory of their first meeting and he remembered his surprise when he had first settled his eyes on her. The language learning game she and Imala had performed numerously shortly after returned to his mind and he said; "Kuwewanik," as he gestured his head to the rodents. She nodded and while the squirrels ran down the trunk like two madmen before they zigzagged away across the forest floor, she repeated the word with a smile, grasping his intention. Then they both hurried along to catch up with his father who had not stopped during this interval. By then, the last rays of the sinking sun shone through the leaves, setting the forest in a soft yellowish glow.

Finally his father placed down the buckets he still was carrying to look around. They had arrived at the bottom of a wooded mound of which the base was open and the rounded top erratically covered with big rocks and thickets. Its highest point would be a perfect hiding place for the night. Apparently, his father's thoughts were alike, for he turned his head to look at him with one eyebrow infinitesimally raised and when Uncas curtly nodded in assent, they started to ascent the slope.

* * *

The chirping of crickets singing their mating call sounded through the dark. From his position he could see the lying form of his father at some distance. Moonbeams shining through the leaves casting a blotched mosaic on the ground partly revealed his sleeping face. The English girl had seated herself on a soft bed of moss not far away, her back against a boulder while she looked up at the night sky.

Uncas was taking first watch. He had installed himself in front of a tree against which he could rest his back and head. It was a perfect position to observe not only their resting place, but most of the surrounding land below as well. Somewhere halfway through the night he and his father would switch places and he would be able to regain some sleep, although he was not tired in the least, the events of the afternoon still vivid in his mind.

Suddenly his empty stomach growled and stirred him out of his state of watchful reverie. They had not dared to risk making a fire and he had left camp in such a hurry he did not had time to bring along any nourishment. Surprisingly, soon after arriving the girl had been able to find some wild strawberries around. She had displayed the yield in the bowl of her hands in front of his face while looking endearing expectantly at him, yet he and afterwards his father had declined her kind offer, reasoning she needed the reinforcement more than they did. So he had watched with content while she devoured the forest fruit.

An unexpected movement caught his eye and he turned his head to watch the girl as she did her best hiding a yawn behind her hand. He was amazed she even minded her manners sitting here in the dark, far away from her own civilization. The sound of the crickets broke off abruptly as she rose and drew near. With the full moon shining down on her white skin and pale hair she almost looked like one of the spirits his people believed to reside only in the afterlife.

"Who were those men today?" She whispered after she had seated herself next to him, before bending her knees upwards and confining them with her slender arms. Her boldness surprised him; She usually did not seek him out like this.

"Mohawks," he answered.

She contemplated his answer before she quietly asked; "Is that a rivaling tribe?"

"Sometimes."

Then it was silent for a while. After a very slow start the mesmerizing chirping progressed again. He looked at the night sky, meanwhile making sure he pricked up his ears to maintain an aural watch, when he noticed from the corner of his eye a shiver coursed through her body.

"Are you cold?"

She shook her head in denial but pressed her knees closer to her chest anyway. He reached for the hem of his tunic and pulled it off over his head to offer it to her. She did not stir and just gazed, first at the shirt and then at him.

"Take it."

She shyly bent her head and he could not read her expression in the dark.

"It'll be even colder tonight," he said amused, though he felt in a strange way rejected.

She still spoke nor moved and just when he thought she would deny once more, she looked up and raised her arm to take the garment hesitantly. Perhaps she just remembered refusing an offer did not display respect. Quietly she disentangled herself and ascended to pull it over her head before smoothing the fabric down her hips. It reached about mid-thigh, just a little above the hem of her thin buckskin dress. She unrolled the sleeves until the dark fabric covered her hands completely and sat down again. Uncas resumed his gaze at the moon. The cool air tickled his now bare skin and the rough bark of the trunk against which he was leaning caused his back to itch, but he did not mind.

"Wanishi," her soft voice broke the silence. He was pleased she did remember, but did not react.

"From which tribe are you and your father?" She said after some time, picking up their subject of before.

"We're Mohican."

"Oh…," was all she said. He sensed she wanted to know more but was afraid to ask. He could understand her reticence, given the way he had reacted earlier.

"My father and I are the last of our tribe," he explained quietly.

"How come?"

He sighed. What was there to tell? He had resigned himself to his fate a long time ago. He searched the night sky as if the answer mysteriously would reveal itself there.

"The white men came and my people died from the diseases and dispute they brought," he finally said. Despite the content of his revelation his voice was matter-of-fact.

She did not respond and when he turned his head to look at her, he saw she had averted her look while the moon revealed a tear glistening in the corner of her eye. Then she fixed her eyes upon his face again and as the tear slowly trailed down her cheek he watched hypnotized. The urge to brush it away with his thumb took him off guard, but he mastered himself.

She said in a small voice; "That is so sad. I … I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything," he just answered plainly.

He wanted to comfort her, to tell her the near extinction of his people surely was not _her_ fault, but she had already gotten to her feet, ready to walk away. He rose too and his hand grasped her upper arm hidden in the now oversized sleeve of his tunic to obstruct her from leaving him, like he had done before, the moment with the deer returning to his mind.

"Alice…." His voice whispered, almost pleading. This too resembled that moment. She looked up at him, hurt visible all across her wet face.

"Don't," was all she said before she pulled herself free and walked back to install herself on the moss somewhat farther from the sleeping form of his father.

He watched her lie down from his guarding position, still upright, feeling powerless and frustrated by the aspect of her nature that also appealed to him - her sensitivity - and the way he had handled that.

* * *

Alice did not know where she was when sleep slowly withdrew and awareness took its place. The side where her body touched the ground felt cold and wet, but her back was warm. Where was she? She opened her eyes only to see a green blur in front of her. It took a while before her eyes had focused enough to perceive the tiny haired vertical structure of voluptuous moss. The not knowing lasted another moment before the memory of the day before returned. They were hiding from the Mohawks! She wanted to rise but a band around her chest hampered her from moving. It took yet another moment to become aware this was due to a muscled brown arm. She immediately knew whom it belonged to. Uncas! She froze in horror as she noticed not only his arm to be around her waist but her arm had entwined his' and her hand was presently clasping his' in front of her chest. It suddenly made sense why the skin of her back felt so agreeably warm. It was pressed - lightly, but nevertheless pressed - against his front. Her face flushed a deep red in realization. How had this happened? She remembered the night before finally falling asleep after feeling irked that every conversation she and Uncas shared seemed to end in either confusion or frustration. She did not want it to be so, but there it was. She had no recollection of him lying down beside her.

Ever so slowly she entangled her hand and arm from his limb and slit away from under his grip. For a moment she thought he would wake up and she almost stopped breathing when he moved, but he only mumbled some unintelligible words while turning on his back before his slumber continued. She sat upright, looking down at his sleeping form in utter emotional and physical turmoil, almost bursting out in a hysterical giggle, yet instead pressing her lips firmly together.

She did not know how long she just sat there, gazing down on his broad naked front. For the first time, she noticed the tattoo of which usually only the lozenge-shaped midsection was visible under the V-split of his tunic in fact prolonged farther horizontally along his chest. Sleep made him look somehow younger, more vulnerable, easier approachable. She swallowed uncertain.

However, the end of her embarrassment had not come in sight yet, for when she was finally able to disconnect her view from his face and the naked skin of his torso to look up, it were the dark eyes of Chingachgook's she stared straight into. He was sitting at the position his son had occupied the night before, leaning with his back against the tree. The buckets were still standing at his sleeping place, like some lost remnants of their original purpose to leave camp.

She leaped up to her feet, unable to remain where she was and started walking away, not caring into which direction, only to halt as she heard him say with a monotone voice; "Don't go far." She kept her back towards him, but shook her head in assent before she proceeded.

After that, the taste or even alone the scent of maple syrup would always remember her of that night lying close against Uncas.


	17. Chapter 17

Wet leaves bent down to pass on drops of water before they slowly bounced back when poured out. Although the downpour was vigorous and veiled the greenness in the glades, the forest floor underneath the leaves remained dry, as the sun had been shining only moments ago. It was a shower typical of early summer days like these.

A surge of soft girl giggling rang through the air from beneath the jagged leafage of an elm tree, under which two girls were taking shelter, one dark haired and tanned, the other with pale hair and white skin. A curious contrast to their occasional snickering was provided by their whistling sounds. The air was heavily scented with that undefinable odor the first rain in weeks induced, though to which neither girl - preoccupied with other matters - paid any attention.

That morning they had been directed to the newly cleared land to water the corn plants the women had sown recently. Next to their arms both had carried two elongated leather sags filled to the brim with water, suspending from poles across their shoulders to accommodate the weight. Ahusaka had been accompanying them for safety reasons, a role to which he and Imala initially had objected, although the former a lot less convincing than the latter. One look from Nagamao had silenced them. Both knew very well it was for the benefit of the Yengeese girl, especially after the unexpected visit of the Mohawks.

Once arrived at the field the girls had commenced leveling the sags to pour out their content over the small crops. Ahusaka in the meantime had sat himself under a tree by the edge of the field so he could keep an eye on the girls and the surrounding area. Before long heavy rainfall had taken them by surprise and had forced the girls to take cover under the trees, while mother nature took care of finishing up their task.

However brief the effort, it had lasted long enough for Alice to discover another skill to be added to the seemingly endless list of accomplishments she still needed to master; whistling. Up till now, lacking this ability had never bothered her, as young ladies in London no more were allowed to whistle than men for instance to faint. The high pitch sound that had left Imala's lips once she had spotted a cheeky crow munching on the tender green, had engendered Alice nearly jumping out of her skin. The black bird had been startled likewise, for it had flown away instantly, although not without having resentfully uttered a few raspy screeches. Yet it had left Alice keen on making such an effective sound herself.

Right after having sought refuge, she had begun practicing by pouting her lips the way she had seen Imala do while blowing out air vigorously through the small opening in between. Apart from the pathetic sound the airflow alone had generated, the slow reddening of her cheeks and her becoming out of breath, she had been unsuccessful in producing any tone at all. Imala had looked highly amused while she had shown her how to roll her tongue against her teeth. Still, no tune had been tempted to pass Alice's lips. Imala had given her a thoughtful look before she had vanished shortly after, gesturing she would be back soon.

So presently Alice was sitting with her back against the trunk, waiting for Imala to return. She was not afraid if anything out of the ordinary would happen, knowing the young brave nearby, although he was not visible from her current location.

She rested the back of her head against the hard ribs of the bark, knowing very well she was too old by now to play childish games. Yet Imala's enthusiasm was irresistible. Besides, the events of the last weeks made her want to bury her head in the sand for a while. She was yearning for some lightheartedness, anything to take her mind off her problems.

First of all she had endlessly worried over the fate of Cora, which had not resulted in her return, so she had felt forced to forsake that path, reasoning her brooding would not attribute anything at all to improve her sisters situation, whereas it had given her a headache instead.

Next there had been the close encounter with the Mohawk braves, compelling Chingachgook and Uncas to all but flee with her from camp. That episode and particularly the night spent outside virtually in the arms of the latter had stirred so many confusing and unwanted emotions, she almost got the worst of it. Therefore, she had firmly decided never to think about that again. Besides, Uncas was gone, for which, she told herself, she was relieved. Having returned at camp and having seen for herself the Mohawks had left, she already had come up with the only possible answer how to deal with her shame, with _him_, to guarantee such a flagrant matter would never happen again, namely to avoid him with more fervor than ever. However great in sounding simple, the solution would be rather difficult to accomplish with him nearby, though she would cross that bridge when she came to it. As it turned out, she did not have to bother at all, for he had been absent since, apparently gone on a long hunting trip with Kele, which offered her time to unwind and collect herself.

The disgrace of their closeness had been preceded by the knowledge that her kind somehow was partly responsible for the diminishing of his people. She had not figured out yet how to handle this, so she had stashed it away in a far corner of her mind to reconsider at a more convenient time.

And lastly, as if everything she had gone through was not enough, a new disturbing development consumed her thoughts; The reassuring familiarity of her body had sadly left her. Not only did she now needed to deal with the discomfort brought forth by that awful bleeding that supposed to happen every month to every woman - at least, if she had interpreted Nagamao's silent explanation correctly, as the older woman had pointed at herself and Chumani, subsequently at their private parts, which, of course, had made Alice blush all the way to the roots of her hair, and finally at the moon. No, if that was all there was to it, she would have handled it - eventually.

But now another physical change put in a word as well. Where her chest had been rather flat up till now, her breasts had surprisingly started to grow. She assumed this somehow was influenced by her becoming a woman lately. She had not even expected this to happen anymore, as her sisters feminine contours had arisen at a much younger age. But there it was, or rather, there they were. She was not accustomed to their new shape and the way they suddenly felt and took up space. At night, when she was sure everyone in and outside the wigwam was asleep, she would touch them in wonder, making sure her hands stayed under the cover of the furs at all times, longing for a mirror so she could look at herself. Whereas during the day she desperately tried to hide her new assets so nobody - especially the men - would notice they were there. Even now, while she was awaiting Imala's return, she was glad the young brave was out of sight so he could not witness her bodily change.

All these things made her wish to elude adolescence altogether and escape in innocent childhood again. She wondered if all young women had to endure this awkwardness and once more resented her inability to talk about it with Imala. And why had she not been born a boy, she thought bitterly. Men certainly did not seem to be vexed by physical distress the way women were. She sighed while she looked at the dripping forest without actually seeing it.

Much the same as she had vanished, Imala popped up again, smiling reassuringly as she noticed she had startled her friend during daydreaming again. In her hands she carried some small items that bewildered Alice as she did not have a clue how these everyday objects would help her overcome her failure to whistle.

Imala began with some pieces of broad grass blades. Squatting close beside her, she showed her how to press her thumbs next to each other with a blade perpendicularly placed along the small cleft in between. Then, by blowing air alongside the leave into the narrow space, she was able to produce strange raspy sounds, most resembling the call of a male pheasant. Reproducing these tones – or something akin – turned out to be quite easy and a guilty pleasure for Alice.

The other objects the native girl displayed in the palm of her widely spread hand, as if making them appear magically, were a few acorn cups. Inducing these scaly nut heads to help her whistle involved her thumbs too, but in this alternative she had to place their knuckles towards each other while folding back the tips, thus creating a V-shaped opening through which air should be blown forcefully onto the edge of the cup underneath. This setup created a lovely bright shriek. Once Alice got the hang of it she was nearly unable to stop, to which the encouragements of Imala, who was visibly pleased with the way her friend was opening up, certainly did not ascribe.

When they were silent for a moment, both needing time to recover from being tickled pink, the native girl grasped her arm unexpectedly as an insidious expression spread across her face. She hauled her up by her arm – the sudden movement practically caused her to drop her new whistle attributes - and gestured to stay low and follow while she slowly sneaked up to the spot where Ahusaka still was sitting on the ground. In the meantime, the rain had stopped and a slight haze obstructed the clarity of the sky as the initial wetness had evaporated after connecting with the warm atmosphere and dusty ground.

As they drew near, they perceived the young male was leaning against the tree with his eyes closed. Apparently, he had been succumbed to slumber – his open mouth seemed conclusive proof of this state. For a moment Imala paused, pointing contemptuously at their supposedly protector, before she continued, gesticulating to Alice to part ways so they could approach him from both sides. When they had nearly reached him they halted, about to burst out laughing - at least Alice was while Imala remained serious - before both started whistling as fervent as possible into the ear of the brave closest by, provoking him to jump in the air like a bat out of hell, followed immediately with his teasers scooting away as if the devil himself was chasing them.

* * *

When the girls finally dared showing their faces in the settlement again, they carried the idle water sags they had emptied at a random point on the way back. Alice discovered the mood in camp was likewise convivial, as if their prank somehow had infected the atmosphere at distance, although Ahusaka, who already had returned, apparently had not squealed on them. For this she was relieved, not wanting to offend her hosts. Perhaps the embarrassment of letting himself be hoaxed by two younger girls while sleeping on duty was reason enough for him to hold his tongue. Still, as she watched him chop wood with one of the older males, she wondered when exactly she had stopped being afraid of his fierce appearance and the sight of his tattoos and scalp lock had become familiar instead. She mused over her friends and the unexpected turn her life had taken, while putting back the bundle of sags into its designated place.

Looking at all activities and content faces around her she assumed the glee was partly due to the departure of the Mohawks, yet turned questioningly to Chumani who had started already with dinner preparations. The native woman, whom she became more fond of with each passing day, just smiled at her while she pointed at the sun that had returned in the meantime. Then she drew a huge imaginary arc across the sky before she highlighted its most uplifted fictional point. Alice grasped midsummer was near and festivities would soon take place because of it. She could now see preparations already were underway. She speculated on these festivities as she sat down on the ground near the fire and crossed her legs. At the way another woman who had witnessed Chumani's depicting qualities started swaying her hips, clapping her hands and stamping her feet whilst whooping with devotion, and thus rousing Alice to giggle behind her hand, she assumed it included singing and dancing too. Perhaps even music, but how this would be performed here was beyond her wildest imagination. While two older males sitting further away were cheering the woman who just got all excited, Alice's thoughts strayed off to England. She remembered the rather uptight dance events back home, where a line of stern looking men facing a line of bashful looking women would be drawn up, while each participant waited for his or her turn to do a simple dance routine as a mixed couple, before they one by one strode elegantly between the rows to join up at the tail end. She had never participated in such an event, she was relieved to say, conveniently ignoring the fact she had peeped down eagerly at the abundantly adorned crowd of young males and females at her sisters debutante ball, while she herself had been sitting at a safe distance on the topmost stair of their London house with her arms around her knees up under her chin. She had to shake her head to return to her present dwelling and cast off the memory of her sisters radiant shining face.

Chumani took up stirring the fine smelling stew with the large utensil she just had used as a pointer, while the other woman abandoned her frolicking to continue her harsh work of cutting up one of last year's pumpkins meant for the stew. Chumani's baby boy, as usual clasped at her front in a cloth, did not join in the merriment and was fidgeting and whining instead. She noticed Chumani rolled her eyes before she talked to him seemingly admonitory. Before she knew it Alice had leaped to her feet and extended her hands towards the little boy. Chumani seized her doubtful for what seemed like a long time. Then she sighed in surrender, before she untied the knot of the cloth-ends at her neck and placed the little boy carefully in Alice's outstretched hands. He was heavier than she had expected and she wondered how Chumani could cope with the weight all day. She held his small body at arm's length as she eyed the child who was quiet all of a sudden, finally being the center of attention, while he in his turn looked equally curious at her. He was naked, but for a smooth piece of hide wrapped around his lower body. She had no idea how old he was, being at a total loss as far as infants concerned. In her circle of acquaintances little ones mostly were kept hidden until they were old enough not to cause their parents embarrassment anymore. Having grown up with an older sister, Alice had never held a baby in her arms or dealt with any small children for that matter. So it was with a little suspicion she watched him now.

But then the little boy opened his mouth to call out a gurgle and pointed one demanding little index finger at a loose strand of hair that had managed to escape her braid. She bent her arms so he could clasp it, which made him scream in delight. Alice marveled at the little lad in her arms, at the folds around his elbows and knees, the dimples on his miniature knuckle folded tightly around the strand, his dark eyes gawking at the paleness of her hair. She pressed him close so she could smell that typical baby scent for the first time and unconsciously a smile nestled around her lips as she seated herself on her rock with the little fellow in her arms and looked out across the hills in the distance.

* * *

That night, while Alice was tossing and turning in the stuffy wigwam, occasionally looking up at the still not completely darkened sky through the hole in the roof, a sweet maple scent oozed its way into the wigwam. By the way her native friend lying next to her was breathing, she knew she was sojourning in dreamland already. Alice gave a sigh of frustration.

After dinner and Alice had helped clearing away, Nagamao had shoved away the embers so some stones that had been put into the fire before dinner preparations had started, had been exposed. Chingachgook had brought along the by now very familiar looking buckets and the native woman had taken out two hot rocks to place one into each using a wooded tong obviously created for this purpose. Sitting on her haunches at some distance, Alice had watched curiously at the sap slowly heating up until steam had started to rise up above. After some time, Chingachgook had replaced the cold off stones with new hot rocks from the fire. By then, Imala had been standing at the entrance of their wigwam, motioning her onward, after which Alice had risen reluctantly to go inside.

With nothing else to do to set her mind on but lying in her bed, unable _not_ to smell that seductive aroma, the events of the morning waking up next to Uncas popped up in her head again, despite all her resolve not to let them.

After she had finally mastered her feelings and had decided she had to return sooner or later, Uncas had already been up, conversing in a hushed tone with his father in their native language, excluding her. Although she had apprehended she could not actually contribute to their decision-making, she had felt piqued they had left her out so easily. As if she had not mattered at all.

Then Uncas had quickly risen to gather his musket and gear before he had passed her by without as much of a word or even a glance on his way down. She had watched him descend before he had vanished swiftly among the trees, running into the direction from which they had come the previous night. Then she had waited, sitting beside his father, feeling ill at ease. Finally, she had summoned up enough courage to ask; "Isn't it dangerous?"

"He's my son," was all Chingachgook had said, as if that had been an explanation in itself.

More time had passed and just as she had begun to feel drowsy again, a faraway birdcall unfamiliar to her had shrilled through the early morning air, surprisingly inciting him to get up and reach for the buckets, while he had said; "Let's go."

She had been astound and could not have helped herself asking; "Do we go back?"

The look the older man had given her had been almost indulgent before he had nodded.

She still had not understood and her face must have spoken volumes, for the native man had expounded; "You'll see."

Not after having descended and seen the familiar shape of Uncas awaiting them halfway back to camp, realization had dawned on her. Apparently, he could also sound like a bird.

All the way back to camp she had stealthily looked at him, wondering about this man who still was a mystery to her. He had rescued her in spite of the fact her kind had caused his people so much hardship. He had offered her his clothes to stay warm, yet had given no consolation when she had been close to tears. He had warmed her with his body during the night, yet had refused to even look at her the morning after. She did not understand him at all.

As she moved to lie on her other side, the last thought she had before sleep finally carried her away, was hoping he would return soon, feeling something lacked in camp with him gone.

_Author's note:_

_Apologies to you followers for uploading lasts chapter twice; don't know what went wrong there:)_


	18. Chapter 18

As the sun rose higher and the weather grew warmer Alice had to avoid the midday sun and seek the shade so her skin would not burn. That meant leaving her beloved rock in the center of camp during noon, as no tree cast a shadow there during these hours. The exposure to the profusely shining sun had reacted her skin to tan slightly so her limbs now resembled the color of solid honey and her fair appearance snuck up an inch to the native complexion. At the same time, it had lightened up her hair even brighter than before. And with that, the latter neutralized her blending in induced by the former and she still stood out in camp like a white stone on a black pebbled beach.

By now, she was able to say simple short sentences in the native tongue such as; 'It rains today' or 'I see a butterfly'. It was Imala's grandmother who unintentionally accelerated Alice's ability to converse with the natives, albeit on a simple level.

It had initiated with Alice using the same word as Imala to address her grandmother - _nuhuma_, after which the native woman had shaken her head disapprovingly. Alice had assumed she had been too forward and she had felt hurt for being reproached, clearly thinking her affection for the elderly woman was not returned, but her sad face had only resulted in stronger discontentment, so finally Alice's confusion had been complete. Then the old woman's mouth had curved in a faint smile and her hands had grabbed the upper arms of the English girl to shake her reassuringly. After a lot of pointing and enunciating very slowly and clearly, Imala's grandmother had made it plain to her that she had no problem whatsoever for being named like that, she just had to leave out the first letter; _Uhuma_ - meaning _her _grandmother. Just _uma_ – grandmother would be sufficient too, whereas only Imala could use the word _nuhuma_ – meaning _my_ grandmother. Once she had discovered native words not only changed in accordance with the meaning and quantity they corresponded with, but at the way the speaker was related to whom he or she referred to as well, the mush of syllables finally began making sense and she was able to entwine them easier henceforth. When she also learned words denoting a quality or capacity or appearance were simply glued to those they applied to, instead of using multiple words and forming a sentence customary in her own language, another leap onwards could be made. Nonetheless, as nine-syllabled words were the rule rather than the exception in the native speech, disentangling them was not always easy. Also, the pronunciation remained difficult and many times she stumbled on producing the sounds that involved pressing her tongue against her lower teeth, despite practicing endlessly with Imala and providing a lot of entertainment in the process.

Though her drive to learn once more was enticed and communication improved significantly, she still could not help but feel displaced at the camp every now and then. Not because her hosts made her feel unwelcome. On the contrary. Apart from a few sour faces and the occasional fun at her expense, most were kind. And the staring too had decreased substantially. It was just that to Alice, fully participating in this new life somehow felt like betraying her old and dismissing her sister and she was not ready to do so. She was like a caterpillar in transformation, longing to fly out, yet afraid of shedding the comfort of its cocoon. So she tarried and retreated into herself once in a while.

Her favorite time alone was spent at the rocked edge of the nearby lake before the close of day. Every so often, when all chores were done and dinner was over, she left the amicably chattering natives around the camp fire to follow the lure of the beautifully located basin while entangling her braid absent-mindedly. Once arrived at the water edge, she would cast off her cornhusk slippers to walk - or, when she was not tired yet - hop barefooted from one warm flat stone to another all along the waterfront, while the orange glow of the setting sun caressed her bare limbs and the wind surged through her hair. By doing so, she could truly escape whatever worries were bothering her and if she squeezed her eyes till slits, she as good as imagined herself back in Scotland, roaming some green meadow. In a strange way it also made up for those last years of confinement by walls and restrictions at their house on Portman Square. Although she had not grasped her father's purpose by exchanging their Scottish residence for London at the time, the major impact of this move on his military career was obvious to her now. She hoped that wherever he was, he would know she did not resent him for that. At least, not anymore.

Sometimes she would halt at the waterline and bent her knees to gaze into the crystal water. Sitting on her haunches, she saw fish swiftly slipping away from her shade above. She thirsted for being able to swim, so she could drop herself carefully in the water and the fish could tickle her skin. One evening as she was sitting and musing like that, she could practically hear her father's voice, saying; 'All in due time, girl'. Her throat had tightened as she speculated if he could sustain himself in the time she was slowly losing touch with the world that once had been all she knew. The memory of his face already was starting to fade and one night when she woke up after having dreamt about him, she jolted upright as she came apart at the seams for being unable to call his features to mind, as the man in her dream had not resembled him at all. How she had known in her mental picture it _had_ been him, she did not know. The following morning she woke up with swollen eyes.

Whenever Imala noticed her melancholy she would include her in one of her many occupations to divert her from her sullen thoughts and Alice would let herself meekly be taken along. Chumani too would put in a word, by gently pushing her little boy into the arms of the wistful girl in an effort to perk her up. This never failed and only stimulated the bonding between those two.

Then one morning, a few days before the annual celebration, Uncas and Kele returned. Alice had not noticed them coming up, but screams from a few of the children made her look up from her sowing work, although sowing was not the word that came to mind describing the activity in hand. Some time ago, she had noted Imala's moccasins were worn with age and she had decided to surprise her with a new pair she wanted to make herself. Yes, it had been rather ambitious, but as she felt words would somehow fail to express her gratitude and affection, she had focused at creating something tangible instead. So she had approached Imala's grandmother who at the time had been mending another pair. Crouching in front of her and placing an index finger vertically on her lips, she had pointed at the shoes in the old woman's hand. Then she had furtively gestured at Imala who had been occupied further ahead, before pointing towards herself. The old woman had understood, for she had nodded while looking back conspiratorially and had patted the ground beside her invitingly with a gnarled hand. Pleased, Alice immediately had plopped down and the native woman had started teaching her how Indian shoes were made, which turned out to be rather laborious, because on top of the difficult and tough work the fabrication itself already was, she had to hide it every time Imala was near. This day however was a perfect day to pick it up again, for the girl who would soon be in for a big surprise had left camp with her mother to gather some rare herbs and would not be back until the following day.

Curious about the unexpected bawling around her she laid down her work. Although the weather was overcast it still was a hot day. The white light of the evenly clouded sky blinded her eyes and she had to place a sore hand above them so she was able to look at the two braves advancing side by side in the distance. Her throat surprisingly went dry and she swallowed with difficulty.

Nearly all the natives turned out to meet the two warriors, the children upfront. With some effort the old woman got up too - laughing apologetically as she grasped Alice's shoulder to lift herself up - and left her apprentice behind. Feeling obliged, Alice also rose to her feet and followed the crowd waveringly, making certain to stay behind the broad backs of some of the older men, not wanting to face Uncas yet.

Kele was carrying a large animal across his shoulders. The weight and the size of his quarry forced him to bend his head forward while all four animal legs stiffly jutted forward next to his head, like branches sticking up in the air from a chopped down tree. When they reached the boundaries of the camp, both halted and Kele slowly stretched his back so the animal slid down until it hit the ground with a dreary sounding thud, blowing up sand and dust. They were soon closed in by the children who burbled around them, leaving a small passage through which the two warriors slowly proceeded to meet the adults - among whom at the front some of the marriageable girls - and touch hands. She noticed Uncas looked around before he settled his eyes on her. He did not smile and she was unable to withstand his keen look for long before she lowered her eyes to the ground disconcertedly.

As the buoyant group with the two hunters in its mid passed her by, Alice stayed put before she tardily walked into the opposite direction. When she had reached the animal lying on the ground, she squatted to examine the beast. It was a deer, female, perhaps two years old. She could see the light brown of its fur, the white spot on its head. Out of its own accord her arm extended slowly to touch its fur while its glassy eyes stared back. She did not know how long she just sat there.

* * *

The midday meal was a cheerful gathering, despite Alice's unexpected dark mood. After he had greeted his wife Chumani, Kele romped their little boy in his arms, making the latter shriek with laughter. As he sat down, he started telling animated stories about their hunt, gesticulating wildly while the youngsters hang on his lips. Although Uncas looked content to be back, he did not contribute to the verbal force of his elder in any way.

Shortly after, Kele drew his fellow huntsman up and grappled him playfully around the neck as he challenged him for a swim at the lake. The Mohican resisted his jests effortlessly. Then both ran towards the water, stripping off most of their clothes on their way. Without further ceremony they plunged in and started washing away the dust and the sweat of their trip. One by one, the younger boys followed the hunters example. It did not take long before an ebullient splashing and excited clamor was heard all around camp. Alice in the meantime had hidden her surprise work and was just leaving her wigwam as the look of Uncas emerging from the water, his wet hair sticking around his head and neck above his naked torso, struck her for the briefest of moments. She had to tear her gaze away and headed towards the camp center, were Alsoomse and Takhi had started dinner preparations. Both girls spent a lot of time together and were like hand and glove. Since Imala was away and Alice's hands were free, she offered her services to both older girls diffidently, at which Alsoomse indicated with a haughty nod.

Tonight's meal would contain freshly caught fish and she watched them being filleted rapidly in their skillful fingers. Next, it would be her job to separate the remains and collect the heads and spines that would serve respectively as a base for soup or tools later on. She rather resented the smelling task, which basically came down to rummaging with her bare hands through the fishes' insides and stash the relevant parts away in various clay pots. The fact the native women did not allow her to use a knife herself did not contribute positively to her state of mind either. Girls having their own knife was no small matter to the young native females, Alice by now had apprehended. A well maintained and therefore sharp knife could be a dangerous tool and handling one's own basically meant a girl was mature enough to take proper care of it and provide a future husband with food she herself had prepared. The group of girls to which this applied - in whom Imala in spite of her young age already was included - was easily recognizable at the way they carried it at their back in a leather sheath attached to their belt. Obviously, to the native women she was simply a child who needed to be watched at all times so she could not hurt herself, Alice thought grumpy. By then, the increasing mirth coming from the lake was inversely proportional to her temper.

After a while both warriors passed by – clean, but soaking wet and dripping, which caused both native girls making teasing sounding remarks - to return to their respective sleeping space. While Kele did not appear outside of the wigwam he shared with his wife and baby boy until dinner again, Uncas stepped out of his' shortly after, dressed in the same tunic that had kept her warm not long ago. She blushed as she realized he had found the shirt she had laid on his bed herself. The direct look he gave her stated very clearly he was well aware of this too, which only added up to her embarrassment. Moreover, he was now heading their way, some tools in his hands to clean near the fire.

The morning after the near encounter with the Mohawks, Alice had walked straight into camp still dressed in his tunic, plain for everyone to see. Not until Imala had gestured at her upper body with an unmistakably teasing expression on her face, she had noticed something was very wrong. One glance down and Alice had scooted off to their wigwam to take it off, perturbed to her core. Sitting on her bed afterwards, she had fondled the smooth fabric thoughtlessly, wondering what to do with it. By then, Uncas had already left to go hunting with Kele, so she could have just laid it back in his wigwam. Finally, she had decided to wash it first. After it had dried - out of camp so no one could see - she had snuck into the empty wigwam he shared with his father and Ahusaka to put it back. Just standing there, she had felt uneasy, as if she was actually doing something forbidden. Once her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimly lit space, she had instantly known which bed was his by the familiar looking gear arranged at the head. Sagging onto her knees in front of it, she had spread the shirt on the thin fur to fold it into a proper square. However, she could not keep her eyes from straying towards his belongings, yearning to unveil the mystery of the man who had saved her life. She had wondered about the few items that seemed to form all his possessions in the world. The reproach of the extravagance that had surrounded her all her life, had taken her off guard. She had rapidly risen and had left the wigwam.

Her hand was hanging in the air to seize some freshly cut fish heads, as a call from Takhi roused her from her thoughts. She looked up to see the native girl standing in front of her, surprisingly displaying her knife on her widespread palm, inviting Alice to take it. She just stared back abashedly, not sure if she understood properly. Her lack of response caused the other to signal impatiently and extending her hand anew. Pleased she _had_ interpreted the girls intention correctly, Alice this time did not think twice before she took the knife with her moist hand and came standing beside here. She took a fish from the decreasing pile and looked with anticipation at Takhi, much the same she usually peered at Imala as the latter was about to teach her something new. However, this girl apparently thought she had already helped her more than enough, for she only gaped at her mutely. Feeling insecure, Alice turned to Alsoomse instead, but she proceeded unflappable slicing one fish parallel to its spine after another. Unfortunately, Chumani was nowhere to be seen. Alice had no idea where the native woman had suddenly disappeared to. Anyhow, she would simply have to copy the other girl's moves the best she could and focus on the task at hand. She looked at the still undamaged fish in her hand and its dead eyes all of a sudden reminded her of the animal lying dead on the ground further away. Pulling herself together, she stuck the knife next to its spine with more force than she intended and started piercing the silvery skin with the blade. She must have thought the fishbone to be more resilient or perhaps the sharpness of the razor-sharp knife surprised her; In any event, her first lash did not only cut through the flesh of the slippery fish, but through hers as well. It took an instant for the pain of the blade piercing the ball of her thumb to set in, but when it did, she could not blank a cry of horror. She did hear the annoyed exclamations from both girls, but could only look frozen at the blood instantly emerging out of the slit and quickly mixing with the moistness at her skin. Someone grasped her hand and when she looked up, she saw Uncas standing in front of her, covering the stab with his thumb to stop it from bleeding. With a grimace on her face she looked down again and noticed the contrast of his dark finger with the red blotched skin of her palm. Yet she hardly noticed the hand at her lower back that guided her gently but firmly towards the wigwam he just had left. Instead, she let herself blandly be drawn along, not minding he did not say anything at all. She stooped to enter the wigwam as he pushed aside the animal skin curtain and secured it to the side. He guided her inside and moved her downwards into a sitting position on his bed while he lowered himself on his knees in front of her, never letting go of her wounded hand. Her eyes followed the hand with which he ransacked his travel bag, his sitting position resembling hers of only a few days ago while folding his shirt. When he had retrieved some clean pieces of buckskin, he sprinkled them with the content of his water gourd and started cleaning her hand, everything in a flowing motion. Both were so absorbed with his moving fingers that they were barely aware their foreheads almost touched. In spite of his recent swim in the crisp water, his hands felt warm to her skin. When he had finished removing the blood and fish remains, he slowly tear loose his thumb the drying blood already had glued to her flesh. Instantly, new bright redness bubbled up from the cut and started the veins in her hand to throb painfully and she could not hold back a jolt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, leaving to what exactly an open question.

He did not react to her apology, but merely said; "I didn't know you already carried your own knife," while he dabbed the wound before he bandaged it with a band of absorbing and flexible hide he quickly wrapped around her hand. With each new rotation the red stain decreased, until it was no longer visible and the hide around her hand was bulging.

"I don't," she confessed, looking up at his still wet hair.

He looked up too with a raised eyebrow. The fresh smell of the lake was pleasantly lingering around him. The nearness of his face was upsetting though and as she stared back at his eyes surrounded by dark lashes, she felt very vulnerable, as if he could see right through her. She averted her gaze to her hand that seemed small and white and helpless between his.

She swallowed and finally added; "Takhi was so kind just now to let me use hers for the first time."

Not after having said that, it struck her the older females _had_ been right; She had not been ready to handle a knife of her own. Not only did she knew it now, _he_ did too. This revelation only added up to her petulance and she wondered gloomily if this day could possibly become any worse.

The moves of the Mohican had been confident and quietly so far, although she noticed his grip tightened at her last admission. He remained silent when he had finished. Alice did not dare look up again, afraid to see mockery or eat least pity in his eyes and kept staring persistently at the neatly bandaged hand that was still enveloped in his grip. He slowly retrieved a hand and again she jolted, but this time it was at the touch of his finger under her chin as he gently raised her head so their eyes were level. Her cheeks instantly warmed at his touch and the way he studied her face, as if he was searching for an answer. She had no idea what the question could be, but for the fact it had nothing to do with the reason of her being there. She could only look back defenseless at his dark inquisitive eyes while his thumb dawdled on her chin. Alice did not know if he had found his response when he finally said; "Better be careful next time."

Suddenly she was very aware of his proximity and the intimacy of their position and location. Her recent resolve to avoid him was sadly neglected, as if all forces strongly plotted to bring them together and she hastily pulled herself away and rose to leave the wigwam in a hurry, but not before she managed to mumble; "Thank you," on her way out.

* * *

The fish stew at dinnertime did not tempt Alice at all and she barely touched the meal. Turning down food was considered as disrespectful, but as she was sitting silently somewhat behind Chumani, who, to Alice's wonder, looked particularly radiant that evening, she did not think anyone noticed. The natives on the other hand did not seem to have a similar problem so the content of the pot vanished slowly but steadily. Afterwards, some of them lingered around the fire and Kitchi, who was the father of a somewhat rebellious daughter, soon began telling a story after a hardly perceptible nod of the chief. The tribe seemed to dispose of an endless supply, as they both loved to tell as to listen to them. It was quiet all around but for the sonorous voice of the native man. If Alice had felt less restless or more uplifted, she would have enjoyed listening too, not because she could already translate all the words, but as someone being part of a bigger whole or merely as an excuse to watch the attentive faces and let the lull of the storyteller's voice mesmerize her.

From the few words Kitchi pronounced slowly enough for Alice to understand, she grasped the tale was about a mischievous and wandering girl, who never listened to her mother. Then the mother got sick and a very old woman advised her to go deep into the woods. She did and at night she saw a beautiful white deer. She tried to follow it, but could not and fell asleep crying. In her dream flowers grew where her tears touched the ground and the deer returned. She woke up next to an antler that she took home. When it was grinded into a medicine powder, her mother took it and got well again. From that moment on, the girl obeyed her mother and she would never forget the blessing and the white deer in the woods.

Although Kitchi's story was an excellent choice because of its educational value, as far as Alice concerned it was an unfortunate one, since it instantaneously remembered her of a pair of glassy eyes. Uncas was sitting at the opposite site of the fire. Every once in a while he glanced at her and every time this happened her look wandered off while she brushed the bandage with the fingers of her other hand unconsciously.

When the vexed father concluded his story many faces were nodding and their owners hummed in a kind manner, although his daughter refused to look up and was fidgeting with her hands instead. The nodding and the humming meant the little audience had liked both the story and the way it had been told. Alice swiftly got to her feet to help clearing up and cleaning the large pot in which the fish stew had been cooked. It was heavy and because her injured hand prevented her to hold onto it properly, Alsoomse had to help her carry it to a small stream further away in which the Indian women used to clean kitchen tools and utensils. The water did not merge into the lake and the bottom of one of the bends was covered with sand, perfect for grinding the remains out of the pot. Nevertheless, the work was arduous; She had to wipe off the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wet hand a few times. The jab at the ball of her thumb hurt and instead she used her other hand. When the pot had been cleaned sufficiently, Alsoomse lifted it easily on her own. Alice gestured she needed some time alone. The other girl shrugged indifferently before she went back, leaving the English girl behind at the burbling stream. She just sat there for a while, moving the fingers of her good hand through the water, feeling out of sorts with everything and everybody around her. It just felt good to be away from camp for a while.

However, a rustle in the dry leaves beneath the shrubbery nearby distracted her from her gloom. For a moment fear got the worst of her; She was all alone and the camp center was not visible, but she sighed as a slender-bodied grey bird appeared, clearly foraging for food on the ground. When it perceived her presence, it gave a series of scratchy chat calls to warn her off.

"That's just great. You don't want me here too?," Alice exclaimed at the bird. "Well, just line up behind Alsoomse and Takhi." Her wayward words sounded strange in the remote place, even to herself. Besides, they only set off a new rattle of calls. She leaped to her feet to leave the petulant bird in peace and walk towards the lake. When she beheld the soothing picture of the smooth surface she almost sighed from relief. Finally she was alone. She walked all the way to the edge and looked out across the now purple water. In contrast to her low spirits, that evening's view was stunning, seemingly provoking or perhaps hoping to elevate her. The sky had almost cleared and the western horizon looked like a pale blue plateau several strokes had shoddily wiped clean, leaving behind sequential lengthwise brushes somewhere between the shades of orange and pink. She had never seen anything like it and she could only keep staring as the colors intensified, while the light of day around her faded. Compared to that sensation her problems seemed non-existent and she could almost feel them leave her body like a bird leaving the ground and fly away.

She had not heard anyone approach until someone actually came standing beside her. When she looked, she all but expected it to be Uncas. Instead, it was his father who was contemplating her. His presence was not less surprising as his sons would have been, though all the more disappointing, seeming in line with the day she had been having so far. She averted her head and resumed her gaze at the sky in an effort to hide her disillusion. Still, she was curious why he had sought her out and waited for him to speak, although it remained quiet for quite some time.

Finally Chingachgooks words broke the silence; "My people believe everything and everyone has a purpose in life."

She did not react, wondering what he meant and where this was going to.

After some more time he elaborated; "Some mate, some get offspring. Others get killed." He turned his head to look at her with astute eyes.

"Everything and everyone has a role in this life, _yôksqáhs_."

She did not know the meaning of the word he used to address her, but did not want to interrupt to ask so she just looked back at his familiar face, in which Uncas's features vaguely returned.

"We not always know our path. But Manito does."

Alice had heard that name before. The natives believed that the Great Spirit, or _Kitanitowit_ as they usually said, was present in all living things.

"That deer apparently was born to be killed one day by my son. It will now provide us of food, clothes, tools, sinew-"

"I know its death wasn't in vain," she interrupted, trying to appease him. "It's just…"

Her unfinished sentence lingered in the evening air. She did not know what exactly it was she wanted to say. Did not know how to describe the tension in her chest every time she thought of the cold eyes. Instead, she repeated meagerly; "I know."

"After killing, Indians thank every animal for their gift," he said.

"They do?" Her eyes grew very wide.

"Mmm."

"How?"

He averted his head towards the lake, while his words fanned out across the surface; "They say; 'We're sorry to kill you, Brother. Forgive us. I do honor to your courage and speed, your strength' ..."

Both were silent after he had spoken. After some time, Chingachgook turned around to leave her be. She stared at the natural force in pink and orange in front of her, thinking about his words.

Before long however, she turned around. "Chingachgook?"

He halted, but did not look back.

"Thank you," Alice said timidly.

He gave a curt nod before he resumed his pace.

Then Alice turned away from the shoreline too, only not to follow him back to camp, but to head for a section at which several racks made of straight beech branches had been built. As she drew near, she noticed the deer was presently hanging over one of those, its back outwards and its head facing the ground. Underneath, a birch container had been placed, into which occasional red drops were adding up to its content nearly reaching the limit. She got down on her knees and slowly raised her hand to touch the deer's fur at the neck. It felt soft and her fingers twirled it gently, as if it could still feel her caress. After some time, she quietly repeated Chingachgooks words at the lake. Then she got up and walked back to camp.


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's note: The story of the stonemason doesn't belong to me. It was put down in writing by Wolter Robert van Hoëvell in the mid nineteenth century._

The following morning the sky had brightened up, as had her mood, although her wound ached. Every time a pang at the ball of her hand reminded her of the events of the previous day, she grimly appealed to herself to consider it a lesson in humility. She was ready to leave it behind her then, yet it all but created a scene when Imala found out what had happened.

Her native friend had returned with her mother that morning, both carrying baskets piled up with peculiar smelling herbs and plants. Later on, she would help hanging them high in the Long House roof to dry additionally.

The girls had just made their way to the place the Indians had created for personal needs. It merely consisted of a few holes dug in the ground in the midst of long-eared ferns, covered up with fan-shaped hemlock branches. The males disposed of a comparable corner at the opposite side of camp, she was told. Of all the novelties she had encountered in the wild, this amenity beguiled Alice the least. It was remote, which was, particularly at night, rather a nuisance and when an urge came up during rainfall, she had to wait or risk getting soaked to the skin. She did not want to dwell on the circumstances in a harsh winter.

Imala grabbed her hand the moment she noticed the bandage, her face contorted with disgust.

"I better not leave you?" She said, stroking the soft hide wrapped around her hand worriedly.

"No," Alice reassured her, pulling her hand away.

"How happened?"

While they followed the narrow path that twisted through the forest back to camp in single file, Alice expounded on her stupidity, in the meantime hopping to keep up with her friends firm strides. She sensed Imala had to summon up patience not to interrupt, but she did not want to leave anything out, as if biting the dust was a way of doing penance and casually mentioned the coincidence of Uncas returning only moments before and tending it right after. When she had finally finished, Imala blew out an indignant _hmpfffing_ sound up at her nose.

"Uncas back and Takhi gave you knife?" She said, or something along the line, as she kept walking.

"Yes." That one was easy.

Then Imala looked briefly behind and her look of thunder did not leave any doubt she took this very seriously.

"What's wrong?" Alice's surprise was sincere.

"You went injured, you-" She did not get the rest of her argument, forced to look at her back, but at the way Imala gestured passionately, she perceived she had nearly escaped death. How could she explain it would not have happened if _she_ had not been so brash to accept the blade in the first place. She hurried forward until she was walking beside her, occasionally avoiding protruding branches, while shaking her head and smiling to assuage her friends agitation. Her non-verbal capacities clearly were inadequate for the native girl stormed even faster back to camp to undoubtedly take the action she saw fit, leaving Alice no alternative than to jump right in front of her, placing a firm hand at her shoulder to halt her.

"My fault. You understand? My fault." Her arm moved back and forth between their chests to reinforce her words, while raising her pitch an extra octave.

"No! Takhi wrong," Imala called out as she shook off Alice's hand impatiently. Then she started gabbling in her native tongue, losing Alice after the first two words, apart from hearing her mentioning Uncas's name thrice. How was it possible they could disagree on something like this. She could only shake her head in bewilderment and shrug. All of a sudden Imala fell silent and a thoughtful, knowing look beyond her age appeared in her eyes, as if she was aware of something her English friend was not. Her face softened and she cupped her cheek gently. Yet her abrupt forbearance left Alice in the dark and for the first time since they had met she sensed a distance between them. Not because Imala was unkind to her. No. It was for the way she was showing her kindness now. Despite of their physical closeness, she felt they were miles apart and her glee after reuniting that morning meanwhile had evaporated. Her face must have shown it, for Imala put a hand on her shoulder to tweak it encouragingly as she complied; "Good. But not go near Takhi."

Alice nodded, though her victory left her torn; Content about preventing a scene, though bothered by not knowing the reason for her change of heart. She stepped aside and both girls continued in silence.

Seeing the reversed mood at camp and signs of anticipation all around, not partaking in it somehow felt wrong to Alice. She did not want to be left out of the revelry. She decided it was time to shed the whole knife business and grabbed the hand of the girl beside her to convey her resolution with a firm squeeze. Imala had to be of the same mind, for she answered her similarly only moments after.

* * *

All day long, the natives were busy preparing the feast that would take place the following day. Men chopped additional firewood, hollowed logs meant for water drums, gathered long feathers to adorn their heads, composed ointments for painting their faces and chests, while the women prepared more food, embellished their dresses with wampum or created new ones, threaded beads into chainlets, pounded seeds and cooked stems and leaves to extract precious oil which they scented with mushed rose petals or whatever smell they preferred. Although Alice had gained the celebration mainly served a spiritual purpose, beautifying one's self apparently did not interfere with this function. For all she knew, it might even invigorate their religious strength and she could hardly wait for the day to pass and see for herself. When Chumani asked her what scent she liked, she did not think twice, but not knowing the Indian word forced her to merely point at the row of pines at the opposite rim of the lake. The woman's gaze followed her finger to glance back stupefied only moments later. Before Alice could stop her Chumani had already yelled; "Uncas!"

The Mohican had been busy with his father and another male a bit further off, stretching a finely tanned buckskin across a huge wooden frame. He laid down his work at the sound of his name and turned with squinting eyes. Alice got hot under the collar as he left the men behind and purposefully came walking their way. Surely, he did not want to be involved in such feminine frivolity as a woman's scent! But when Chumani rapidly explained their language barrier, he did not laugh as his eyes beheld her with his brown gaze … well not exactly, for she noticed a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Chumani wants to know what scent you like," his deep voice contrasted ostentatiously with the lightness of their subject. A glimpse of curiosity in his eyes revealed he did not mind knowing himself.

"Pine resin," she mumbled embarrassedly.

His eyebrows lifted hardly noticeable, but he translated her words, his eyes never leaving her face.

The other woman's sigh made it clear beyond doubt her choice was unusual, to say the least.

"You sure?" She checked, not sounding pleased.

With some effort Alice averted her eyes from Uncas's face which now unmistakably demonstrated amusement, to give Chumani a resolute nod.

Then Uncas said something she did not catch and after a last glance he left her and Chumani behind. He did not return to his previous work though, but jogged away along the path that led into the direction of the forest, securing his tomahawk at his back.

"Where he goes?" She fumbled her way through the words, gesturing with her head at the trees between which he had just disappeared.

The native woman just smiled appreciatively for her ability to form an Indian sentence - however short and did not answer. Instead, she directed her resolutely to sit on the rock and placed her little boy in her arms so her hands were free for a while to commit herself fully to her work of mashing a still considerable amount of rose petals.

As usual, the boy distracted her right away and that day he was even livelier than he normally was. After she had pulled some funny faces at him, she soon got the wind he rather fancied something involving physical entertainment and his vitality sparkled her to rise and lift him high above her head before supposedly letting him fall and stooping to rescue him only moments above the ground, never loosening her grip of course. His exalted squeals proved her right and stimulated her to repeat her performance over and over again. Gasping for breath because of the strenuous capering she ultimately had to pause and recover. Her laugh of surrender tinkled all around camp as she seated herself on the rock again with the boy still in her arms. By that time, some of the smaller girls had gathered near, attracted by her jesting and eager to participate and touched her shoulder and hair. Chumani too, smiled as she took in the happy bunch.

"No more, I can do no more," nearly breathless, she accidentally spoke in English at the expectant faces of the little ones around her. She was just turning her head to press a kiss upon the little boy's palm to stop him from patting her cheek most irreverently, when she ended up looking straight into Uncas's eyes. Apparently he had already returned. He was standing a short distance away, some resinous budded branches of Eastern Red-cedar in his hand. The way he gazed at her with his head cocked and his lips creased in the faintest of smiles, made it clear he had been standing there for quite a while. The concentrated look with which he enveloped her features truly took her breath away and cowardly she hid her face in the boy's neck.

* * *

When the natives around the central fire had eaten that evening's meal, Alice rose to her feet like Imala to help cleaning up. Sitting side by side on their knees both were busy scraping the leftovers out of the big pot with an even piece of wood. Absent-mindedly she caught the chief, or _Sakima_ as everyone called him respectfully, inviting their guests to tell a story that night. She kept her eyes on the charred remains of the blackened vessel, but could not suppress a smile, curious what tale Chingachgook would bring forward. She assumed he also knew quite a few. However, the indignant exclamation of Alsoomse was not within the scope of expectations and somewhat distracted she looked up at the girl, only to see her scowling in disgust. Turning her head into Sakima's direction, she could but gape foolishly at the imperative finger he was pointing towards _her_. Unlike his long grey hair hanging down on both sides of his heavily wrinkled face, his dark eyes were ageless and unfathomable. The upwards movement of his bristly eyebrows, as if he was genuinely curious what she would come up with, choked the hand that had been doing a cleansing dance with Imala's at the bottom of the pot. Could he seriously want her to provide tonight's verbal entertainment? Surely, this was a misplaced joke. An encouraging jab of Imala's elbow to her ribs proved her wrong.

Chingachgook was sitting next to the chief and her eyes begged him to help her, but he just looked back, not exactly unfriendly, but his inscrutable face gave her no indication what she should do. Stalling for time, she wiped her fingers clean with a piece of buckskin Imala had just slipped into her hand, in the meantime covertly scanning the area in the hope to discover the one she so far had relied on, but as it happened his son was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she saw many other solemn eyes fixed on her. The way they looked made it obvious Alsoomse stood alone in her indignation, apart from Takhi that was. Imala's instruction to avoid Takhi had been unnecessary, for the native girl had acted likewise regarding her all day, although she presently was glaring furiously back.

It was clear there was no escaping this. And to be honest, she did not want to; She actually liked to rise to this challenge. While she was trying to get a grip on herself - 'think, Alice, think' - the infinitesimal nod of Sakima buoyed her up. Her eyes strayed above his head to the waving treetops in the distance. For a moment she focused on them, but the leafy branches slowly faded away as she gazed inwardly, to eventually feel her hand brushing the back of a book, the backs of many books, standing in neat rows, shelf above shelf, all the way up towards the ceiling; She was back in her father's library, her favorite hiding place in their London home. It had even disposed of a wooden ladder for easy access of the topmost shelves. Many a blissful hour had passed with her standing on that ladder, holding onto a step with one hand, while reading page after page of the countenance the book in her other hand displayed. As a matter of fact, she had been standing much the same when she first had heard of the existence of the indigenous population of the new world, unintentionally overhearing a conversation somewhat below between her father and one of his superiors preceding his departure for the colonies. Although they had used the term savages, now she came to think of it. The Indians did not dispose of the luxury of such a depository, she mused. But they had no need to. All the stories their fathers and mothers had told them and theirs before them, were stored in their heads and each time they told one to their children they added a piece of themselves to it, not knowing precisely how language passed on the experiences of their people from one generation onto the next until it became a mutual historiography. Just by sitting together around a fire and listening to a tale being told. Much like that moment in fact.

She smiled, suddenly feeling confident as the perfect story popped up in her head. She settled her eyes back on Sakima and dwelled on how to begin.

Her first words in the strange language sounded hesitantly. Having an audience made her nervous and it was not for long before her tongue stumbled, pronouncing the long syllables and trying to form proper sentences, until she ultimately faltered. Hearing her was like looking at the first uncertain steps of a fawn. When she fell silent, she lowered her eyes at her fiddling hands, feeling ashamed. Although there was not a trace of mockery to be heard, she did not dare look up and wished with all her heart the earth would swallow her up.

"I'll translate." These unexpected words came from somewhere behind her and she looked back astonished. The tall Mohican who had spoken them was standing quietly outside the circle of listeners. Apparently, he had been busy elsewhere and had just returned. For a moment, all she could do was look at the pleasing sight of the abundance of black hair framing his features. In contrast, words scarcely left his mouth, but never had they been more welcome than the ones spoken just now. She nodded gratefully. He returned her her warm gaze as he sat himself on the ground right in front of her, next to Sakima.

She swallowed once more, before she set to telling her tale with renewed confidence, this time in her familiar mother tongue; "This is a story from the land of the yellow men," she began, before she paused to look at him keenly, waiting expectantly for his translation. He looked back at her face and hesitated before uttering a sound, his mouth already open and ready to speak. For a moment, he seemed in ambiguous conflict, as if looking at her face clashed with hearing her words. It lasted only a moment before he seemed to get his act together and her words resounded in the native language, quite a few octaves lower though.

An indignant exclamation of Ahusaka interrupted her just when she was about to proceed. She did not understand what he meant, but his outbreak earned him a fierce poke in the ribs from Kele, who was sitting next to him, his little boy exhaustedly sleeping in his arms.

The English girl looked curiously at Uncas; "What's he saying?"

Reluctantly Uncas said; "He doesn't believe such a land exists." The look in his eyes made it clear he was not so convinced himself either.

Alice snorted. "Please translate," she told him and turned her head to look at the nonbeliever. "In the land where I come from you have to follow the rising sun for many many days. When you do so, you'll reach the land of the yellow people."

After Uncas had finished, she nodded at Ahusaka as to dare defying her. Nonetheless, he still looked incredulous.

"Did you believe the white man truly existed before you'd seen _me_?" Alice persisted.

She looked at Uncas looking back at her, translating her words, waiting for him to finish.

Ahusaka's defeat was eminent, but he liked to have the last word. "White man not much of a man if he doesn't come after such a white woman," he said, pointing at her.

Although some of the natives grinned, Uncas did not. Neither did he translate the words of his younger Lenape brother, but she understood anyway. Pleased he had referred to her as a woman instead of a girl, her lips curved upwards too. "Well ….. I'll settle for that." Uncas did not convert that too, but he cocked his head while he watched her with renewed interest.

"As I was saying …. in the land of the yellow people, there once lived a stonemason. He wasn't content, for the work was hard and the pay was low. Furthermore, people didn't listen to him."

After Uncas had translated, she proceeded; "Then, one day, the emperor is carried forth by four carriers in his palanquin. The stonemason looks at him and feels jealous. He thinks how easy everything must be for the emperor, who looks as if he has never worked a day in his life and he says; 'I wish I were the emperor, then I would be the most powerful.'"

She noticed Uncas needed some time to search for an appropriate interpretation of these lines. Perhaps some words did not even exist in his language. But by using his hands he apparently managed, for she saw some faces around her nod in understanding after he finished gesticulating. Looking at his hands now resting on his thighs, she proceeded; "Then an angel from above appears who says; 'As you have spoken, it will befall.' The next day, the stonemason wakes up in the palace and realizes his wish has come true. He is pleased and the first thing he does, is go for a ride himself. His carriers are sweltering and when they can't hold on because of the heat he looks up at the sun and says; 'That sun mocks me, he is more powerful than I. I wish I were the sun.'"

Telling her own story visibly enthralled Alice. It was evident by the way she used different tones of voice to impersonate the various characters, from the way she used her hands to emphasize the events, from the way her face beamed as she imagined the yellow men's land.

"Then the spirit appears again and says; 'As you have spoken, it will befall.' And then he becomes the sun and he himself scorches the lands underneath and he feels the most powerful of all. But then some storm clouds shift beneath him, so the land is protected against his burning rays. It makes him angry and he says; 'Those storm clouds mock me, they are more powerful than I. I wish I were those storm clouds.' Then the spirit appears again and says; 'As you have spoken, it will befall.'"

She halted to listen at Uncas's deep voice rendering her words, watching him intently, as if she actually knew all the words leaving his mouth, as if her translator was her only audience. And his dark eyes looked back at hers correspondingly, making her lose the thread of her story. At the clearing of one's throat she moistened her lips and continued; "He changes from sun to storm cloud. Being more powerful than the sun, he devastates the land with squalls and the crops and the ground flushes away at the profuse rainfall. Everything breaks and crushes because of him, except the rocks that stay as they are. Angry, he looks down at the rocks and says; 'Those rocks mock me, they are more powerful than I. I wish I were those rocks.' Then the spirit appears again and says; 'As you have spoken, it will befall.'

When Uncas's shook his head a little helplessly to indicate she went too fast, she smiled and paused to give him time to reproduce the tale, before she resumed; "And so, he changes from storm cloud to rock and he withstands all storms and rivers. Then, one morning, a stonemason passes by, carrying a pickaxe. All day, he chips big pieces out of the rock, before he walks away to return home for the night. 'That stonemason mocks me, I wish I was that stonemason.' Then the spirits appears again and says; 'As you have spoken, it will befall.' Then he is turned into a stonemason, just like he was before. He still earns little, but he is happy now, even without wealth and power."

Concluding her story with a big audible sigh, she kept looking at Uncas for him to state her last sentence. After a while, a humming sound slowly drew her back to reality. Unlocking eyes with the Mohican, she looked around to find the Indians approving with their head, Sakima included. But the single nod of the man in front of her truly made her glow with pride.

* * *

"How was the travel, my son?"

"As you expected. They headed straight back into their lands."

As his father did not reacted, he added; "We could've overcome them."

"No." His father's voice sounded harsh. "It would only draw every Mohawk near in search for their fallen kinsmen."

He tilted his head at the evening sky and was silent for a while. Then he continued; "Although I assume it won't take long before they'll be back anyway and claim what they believe is theirs to claim."

His father was referring to the reason for the Mohawks turning up at camp; A demand to pay toll as a tribute for trespassing their lands. The rising of the white men had induced the tribe to draw back further north, closer to the lands controlled by the Mohawks.

"If we stay here, we'll eventually have to comply … or fight." After a while, his father added; "Or hide."

"I hope it doesn't come that far," Uncas admitted, yet he knew better than that; According to tradition their foes were a tenacious people. It would be a grave mistake to underestimate them.

They were sitting side by side at the boundaries of camp, high on a pile of boulders, enabling them to oversee their surroundings and the wigwams further below scattered randomly over the terrain like rain bubbles on a water surface during a heavy downpour. The sun had set some time ago and the sky was close-to dark. It was the first time since his return they were able to talk privately. Although Uncas was glad for the sole company of his father, who was clearly enjoying the quiet evening, he felt restless, his mind still processing all the things that had happened since his return.

"It's a difficult path you are choosing, my son," Chingachgooks voice broke the silence. "Especially now."

His father's remark took him by surprise and he searched his eyes to see if he had understood correctly, but the dark veiled his expression.

As Uncas did not respond, his father elaborated bluntly; "Never have I seen you exert yourself on behalf of a girl."

For a moment he was shocked. He had not known his father had been able to see into his heart that easily. Until recently he himself had not even been able to see into his own heart. But then he smiled. He _was_ right. Then again, his father had not been named _big snake_ for no reason. His deadly warrior skills and his ability to perceive men's evil ways had earned him even a French translation of his name among the white foes of the English and the natives allied to them. Not that Uncas considered his intentions to be immoral, they were conventional neither. Until his father's remark he had not even known he had made a choice, but now he came to think of it he realized he had. The days spent away from camp during his secret pursuit of the Mohawks with Kele and his remarkable eagerness to return had ultimately revealed what he unconsciously already had known.

"It's not really a matter of choice," he finally affirmed his father's assumption.

"There's always a choice," his father contradicted him philosophically.

Uncas did not want to deny his father's words, but he knew deep within this was not true for him. Not anymore. He wanted his life to be entwined with hers. His heart had known from the moment he had seen her helpless in the arms of that Huron. Then he had wished nothing more than to crush him and safe her, even if it would be his last deed in this life. Yet his mind had resisted to acknowledge his reason for reacting so fiercely. Instead it had bothered him. But somewhere during these last weeks spent with his kin his heart had overcome his mind. No. _She_ had. Without even being aware of it, of that he was sure. He had seen it in her eyes the day before. Moreover, her innocence proved it every time.

"Do you approve?" He tried to keep his voice blank, but was anxious to hear his response. After all, he was the last one who could prolong the Mohican heritage, disregarding his adoptive brother in this respect. He knew very well different standards applied to him and however unjust that sometimes seemed, it was just the way things were. His brothers white birth-parents would extenuate his choice for a wife other than an Indian woman. And it would not surprise him if he would also appeal to this dispensation. His brother too had never shown any interest in the female species until very recently. His action to escort the white girl's sister to the fort could not have sent a clearer message.

Chingachgook sighed and looked at the leaves of which the contours contrasted black against the star-speckled sky. "If it were up to me, you'd be settled with an Indian wife and two children already. Clearly, this is not as _you_ wish it to be."

Uncas remained silent.

After a while his father added drily; "Only Manito knows you have had every opportunity to meet a suitable wife here."

Uncas chuckled, thinking back on all the times they had visited their friends and the numerous instants his father had eyed him with a hardly perceptible expectant glance when a girl seemed interested in him. Although he had acknowledged every one of them having their charm, they had never allured him to the extent he would gladly give up the wandering and unconventional life he lead with his father and brother. How contented he always had been to arrive, leaving again had rivaled that feeling on more than one occasion. That was, until now. Now she was here.

"_If_," his father emphasized the word for his benefit, "she consents, there's always her sister to consider. And her father. They might not approve. It would surprise me if they did. Then there's the matter where you will live. If she wants to return you cannot be together in the white man's world."

His father did not mention one argument he himself had not already pondered exhaustedly during many a restless night.

"Maybe she'd stay if I ask her to. She looks ...," he searched for the appropriate word to depict the way her lips curved in such a state, "charmed being here," he finally said. To add with a spark of hope; "I could tomorrow."

"Impatient are the young," his father sounded resigned. "It's too soon. She has only just become a woman."

His father's remark returned the memory of that awkward moment in the Long House instantly. Her scream had caused him to jump up and when he had taken in her state he had understood right away what was happening to her, but clearly she had not. He had witnessed some of the Yengeese primness before during their occasional visits to the white men's city, but he would never have expected them to intentionally deprive a young girl of the knowledge of and preparation to transforming to womanhood. Looking at her bent head and lowered eyes afterwards he could only guess what confusion she must have been experiencing then. The Indian way was all children at a young age were learned about nature's way, their different biological utterances and physical needs according to their gender. He could not even remember how long ago he and his brother had been called together by their father for such a speech. His father had dwelled not only on the urges of males but on those of females as well. He did remember he had not found it discomforting at all to hear how he could contribute to make it a pleasurable experience for both. After all, it was just another natural expression. And he was not ashamed he rather looked forward to his first intimacy with a woman, although he knew by Indian standards his age was unusual because of his refusal to settle down with a woman so far.

He now was glad Kele and Ahusaka had been gone that day to install the new fishing trap in the river. He did not think he would have endured them making indecent remarks about something that obviously caused her so much embarrassment. He suddenly wondered if she would be in the dark about what transpired between a husband and wife too. He thought it very likely. In his heart he knew his father was right. He usually was. He tried to summon up patience from every pore in his body while he kept staring at the dark, thinking how her eyes and her voice, no her whole face had sparkled as she was telling her tale that evening and his strain to focus on the words leaving her mouth.

"It's better to wait until her sister has returned," his father interrupted his line of thought.

"Do you think they will return?"

"I know it in my heart," his father responded much with the same resolution Uncas himself once had simulated in an effort to ease her. His father, however, did sound genuine.

He watched him rise to retire and felt his hand brushing his shoulder lightly, before he wished him good night. Then he looked through the dark at the hardly visible wigwam that presently sheltered the girl they had talked about and he wondered if they would ever share one together.


	20. Chapter 20

Up till now, washing herself in the wild had been a hushed maneuver for Alice. A matter of awkwardly undressing in the open air and stepping into a fast flowing stream with her shift still on. A matter of cautiously choosing where to put her feet on the algae-covered and sometimes sharp rocks at the bottom of the river-bed, careful not to lose her balance. A matter of crouching and swiftly splashing water at her face, under her armpits and between her legs, in the meantime surreptitiously searching the perimeter to see if no one beside Imala or whoever was accompanying her, was watching. A matter of jolting at every rustle in the dry leaves ultimately caused by small animals or birds, while her lower limbs grew numb in the ice-cold water.

This afternoon however, she could not get over the feeling of cleanness. Never before had she scoured herself alike, had her skin felt so exhilarated, tingling all over, not even in England. Had her unconfined long hair felt so airy. Had she herself felt so brisk, as if she had taken a sip of powerful life potion instead of abundantly rubbing her whole body with a soapy consistency enriched with crushed cedar buds and needles. Was it not weird to travel all across the world and end up in this remote corner to finally having these sensations? Would it be possible to have them every day, just by letting her body immerse in the lake like she just had done?

Admittedly, it had needed a lot of persuasion from Imala and Chumani and Nagamao and even _Uhuma_ for her to even consider dipping a toe in the water, afraid as she was of drowning. But afterwards, she could only be glad she had let herself subside into the native customs a little deeper.

And to think that only that morning she had been capable of doing nothing more than sitting languorously with her back against the still shaded rock in the camp center, fanning her warm face with some birch bark sheets she had found near the wood supplies earlier. From the moment the sun had risen it had been sweltering, the hottest day since Alice had set foot on the continent.

All morning her motions were slow, as if she was wearing a dress made of oppressing chainmail rather than thin animal hide, until leaning against the boulder eventually seemed the best way to pass time. Looking in the distance at the warm air quivering above a pool of water she knew not really to be there, she wondered why the Indians had to pick precisely this day for their festivities when she could hardly summon up energy to breath, let alone participate. To make it worse, she seemed the only one affected by the weather; Her friend and her mother went on undisturbed with their chores and even _Uhuma_ was mending torn up clothes like it was business as usual. She must have dozed off after that thought, for when she jerked awake the women were gone and she was surrounded by males, who were nearly all engaged in embellishing themselves. She rose to look around, but they were nowhere in sight. She pondered if they already had started the feast somewhere else without her knowing it. It was Ahusaka who leaped up and ambled his way over to her, leaving Uncas and Kele behind. His face and naked chest were freshly adorned with the same patterns Kele presently was applying with an animal bone on the muscled front of the Mohican. The sight of the bone stroking his chest, leaving behind green angular-shaped figures on his brown skin unsettled her, she did not know why – probably the sultriness brought it about. She nudged her gaze upwards, only to see him inspect her and Ahusaka with a worried glance. Apparently she looked as if she was about to swoon any moment. Well, he need not be disturbed, she thought. Fainting was one of these young ladies dispositions she despised and she was not going to give Alsoomse and her likes the satisfaction of falling into such a predicament.

"Where are women?" She asked Ahusaka, her arm wavering around to state her question.

His answer was incomprehensible though. Her face must have reflected concern, for he put his hand on her shoulder and for a moment his lithe fingers massaged the slender bone. Then he turned her around until she faced the lake at which he subsequently pointed, standing close behind her and not far from using her frame as support for his guiding arm. She looked up at his brown eyes and briefly studied his foreign features that looked particularly outlandish with the latest additions. She gestured at the lake questioningly, but his hand just trailed downwards to rest at her lower back before he gave her a gentle push towards the water.

She walked into the direction he had indicated. When she had neared the lake she followed the shoreline until the proximity of the females was evident from the clothes, slippers and other typical feminine attributes haphazardly lying on the rocks of a promontory. She breathed a sigh of relief, before disillusion displaced her satisfaction for not being asked to join them in whatever it was they were doing.

A remote chatter and splashing murmured its way over and curiously she rounded the bend to see the women and children had assembled on a small crescent moon shaped beach situated behind the rocks jutting out into the lake. Some were even standing in the water to wash themselves. Alice nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of their shapes in various degrees of dressed-ness from clothed to bare skinned. She instantly stopped and turned around dismayed. She had been playing with the idea of paddling along, but by no means would she take part in this ….. in this ….. a decent word to describe what she just had witnessed refused to come to mind.

She had not walked far before a persistent pull spun her around and Imala's outspoken eyes faced hers. Apparently, her friend had been submerged halfway into the water for she was au naturel too and dripping from the waist down. Alice instantly squeezed her eyes together tightly, to which Imala merely reacted with a loud laugh.

"Come in lake …. wash," she said persuasively, taking her friends hand to haul her back.

Alice let herself docile be dragged along - that algid dark surface _had_ looked tempting, covering her eyes prudishly with one hand while the other hesitantly groped the air in front of her as if she was actually blind. After a while she knew they had reached their destination as their voices enclosed her. Then other benign hands touched her and took off her dress and then her shift and next entwined her braid before they tugged her quietly onwards.

"I can't swim," her nervously English spoken resistance was more for form's sake, but they understood nonetheless, for Chumani's voice popped up somewhat behind her and said; "Walk."

It was only because of the reassurance of many guiding hands she dared to enter the water, yet she could not work up the courage to behold her own shameless corpse wearing nothing more than a bandage around her hand and kept her eyes firmly shut. The first sensations of stepping into the lake dispelled the final remains of her midday nap. The water felt chilly to her warm feet, whereas the loose sand at the bottom spread her toes agreeably and goose bumps emerged where her hair brushed her naked skin. Bit by bit she sauntered into the water with barely a splash, still guided by several hands and encouraging calls in front of her, relying on their best intentions. She dawdled across the sandy bottom until the water reached her knees, her thighs, her private parts - at which she twitched - the tips of her hair and her hips. The whole time, she never opened her eyes and kept her arms tightly crossed in front of her chest for modesty's sake. If her governesses could only see her now, she thought, they would truly assume she had turned into a heathen. She did not even dared to think of what her sister would say.

When the boundary of cold and wet meeting hot and dry was around waist level, she finally summoned up enough courage to open her eyes, only to see laughing faces amongst long black strands plastered against wet brown skin. In alarm she bent her knees so the water encircled her up to her chin, gasping for air at the touch of the sudden coolness and peeking self-consciously at the contentment around her. After her warm skin had interacted with the cold water and the way she perceived them somehow was reversed, she was able to relax and the women shepherding her as well and they withdrew a little to leave her be.

She focused on the far away trees above the rocks at the opposite rim and let herself sluggishly fall backwards, moving her arms and hands just below the calm water surface like pliable branches yielding to the wind and thus keeping her balance. Then she tilted her head backwards and dipped her hair into the water to let it flow like seaweed. The sky above was a faraway pale blue ceiling and she looked up at it dreamily. After a while, she closed her eyes to succumb to the feeling of effervescence enveloping her everywhere except her face and the soles of her feet rooted to the bottom of the lake, thinking about nothing much at all, a wide smile spread across her face.

It took some time before the calls of the women roused her out of her reverie. When she finally came upright, she saw they were heading for the promontory. Had the women initially had to all but push her into the water, now they practically had to drag her out of it. Not after Nagamao had motioned continuously she complied, ensuring her long hair covered her chest as she rose out of the water too.

Imala was sitting on one of the rocks and offered her a clay pot filled with a green rather gruesome yet odorously lubricant, its resinous scent instantly reminding her of Uncas's unexpected help of the previous day and his piercing gaze afterwards and her cheeks pinkened. The native girl cocked her head and observed her with interest. Then she smiled playfully and said; "Your soap."

After she had greased herself generously from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair with the non-foaming essence, she followed Imala's example by running back to dip into the water. When Alice not only had rinsed off the soap but the final remains of her reticence as well, she took up the gauntlet her native friend induced by starting a splashing contest and retaliated enthusiastically. Of course the young ones soon contributed by participating energetically and the squirts and the sprinkles flying around in the hot summer air were accompanied by their screeches and screams and squawks.

Afterwards, they withdrew under the shade of a few nearby trees. The hours idled away with drying up and dolling up. The women combed each other's jumbled hear and some also smeared their cheeks with a reddish looking ointment, looking rather ruthless to Alice. After Imala had changed the bandage at her hand and the rivulets produced by her wet hair had ceased flowing down along her skin, Alice stooped to pick up her shift that was lying forgotten on the ground. She was about to bend her head to put it on, when she noticed Nagamao looking at her and shaking her head.

"Why not?" she asked.

The older woman walked away to pick up a folded cloth from a boulder and held it up in front of her. Alice gawked at the finely tanned thin buckskin. It was a knee length wrap dress without sleeves, its neckline border decorated with wampum beads in a geometric pattern, meant to be secured simply with a matching belt. In nothing did it come close to anything she had worn before, being summery, being festive, being beautiful.

"For me?" she asked incredulously, averting her eyes with some difficulty from the stunning dress to the older woman's glowing face.

The last couple of days, Alice had seen her working rather concealed on a resembling piece of cloth and had suspected a special mother daughter moment was at the verge of happening. As it turned out, the dress Imala was holding up mirrored her dress; Her mother had fabricated two without her knowing it. The older woman nodded. Alice rushed forward to hug her tightly, not caring the only thing that separated their naked skin was her long hair covering her breasts, thinking a mother would not be bothered by such triviality. She presumed right. Because her view suddenly blurred she kept holding on until Nagamao patted her arm, shushing her. Then she let herself quietly be entangled. All at once the bandage at her hand interested Alice immensely and she examined it closely to only establish Imala had done a good job.

When she felt she no longer was the focus of interest, she followed Imala's example by excitedly putting on her wardrobe extension. As the native girl in front of her fastened the matching wampum belt looking like a child pleased with a new toy, Alice's smile froze at her face. There was nothing childlike about the cleavage Imala's dress was showing and the mere sight of the impudently low cut neckline made her break out in a cold sweat. Although she had to admit her friend looked absolutely charming, she was afraid what the men would think if _she_ walked around camp all day exposed like that. On the other hand, there was no way she could take it off, not now, after Nagamao had gone to great lengths on her behalf and she herself had displayed all that affection only moments ago. She bent her head to look down on her own front, her under lip pouting, undecided. Seeing indeed far more being revealed than she wanted, especially considering the way her chest lately had changed, she furtively tried to bring the left and right front closer together in an effort to bridge the gap.

"Òphùkòn!"

Hearing her name in a chiding manner made her look up guilty, straight into Chumani's knowing eyes. The native woman came over and started one by one picking Alice's fingers loose from their desperate grip on the fabric, in the meantime shaking her head disapprovingly. Then she squeezed both hands reassuringly before bringing them down next to her sides.

"Don't hide pretty you," she sort of said, trueness in her eyes.

Alice looked back doubtful and saw the native woman herself was lightly attired in a skillfully decorated tunic too. A part of her wanted to be convinced. But anyhow was she about to deny, when Alsoomse and Takhi passing by distracted her. Both girls were barely garbed, wearing nothing more than a string of feathers above their skirts. Their muscular built was plain for all to see and they looked proud and pretty, yet inaccessible, the way they ignored the Yengeese girl completely. Alice did not mind though and compared to their coverage - one could hardly speak of clothing in this perspective - her dress all of a sudden seemed the paragon of chastity. Thinking it was a special day after all and wanting to please Nagamao and Chumani added up to her decision to pander. Though of course that applied only for this day, she resolved firmly. She certainly refused to lower her standards to the Indian insolence any longer than she needed to.

By that time, the heat of the day had faded slightly, but the dip in the lake had cooled her off anyhow. Alice was sitting very still as Chumani put the finishing touch to her hair - keeping it loose though out of her face by binding two small braids on the sides of her face together at the back of her head. She was just relishing the way her scalp contracted at the soft strokes of the animal bone comb, not wanting it to stop, when a sudden deep rumble, like thunder in the distance, all but made her leap up.

She clutched the arm of the other woman, saying; "What's that?"

"Feast begins," Chumani said with a sparkle in her eye.

* * *

The closer she approached camp the more the remote drumming became a pulsating booming, its allure appealing to some primeval instinct and moving toward the sound seemed answering to a compelling and irretrievably mating call. By the time she had reached the village the throbbing was so pervasive, the rhythm reverberated in her chest and she felt the blood pumping through her veins accordingly.

The music was elicited by several, with sewn buckskin thickened, heads of maple drumsticks pounding repeatedly and forcefully on the taut hide of a big vessel, held in the iron grip of approximately seven stern and proud looking men who were sitting in a circle around it in the camp center, among whom Uncas. She watched the concentrated expression on his face and was struck at the way he was beating the drum with every fiber of his being, matching the devotion he brought to every task he took upon him. Then she wondered who his fellow-players were, having never set eyes on them before. The whole village population mysteriously had doubled in the time she had been bathing. Nobody had told her the gathering would be attended by other Indians, but the huge amounts of prepared food suddenly made sense to her.

The newcomers were welcomed cordially and loudly by the returning women and they had only eyes for each other which enabled Alice to wriggle her way backwards until she was standing at some distance, looking at the unfamiliar faces belonging to the men, women and children who had newly arrived. The way they were dressed up proved they were kin, but presumably a different clan living not too far away.

Once a boy who was standing amidst the newcomers spotted her, his mouth fell open. As in trance he pulled at the tunic of the woman who probably was his mother, but she temporarily was occupied – chatting loudly and gesticulating wildly with the mother of Alsoomse - and paid him no attention. This dismissal did not lessen his marvel and he approached her slowly, still gaping, until he stood in front of her. Alice leaned over and placed her hands on her knees so their eyes where level.

"What's your name?" She asked in his language, smiling.

He did not answer and instead absconded to the safe haven of his mother whose leg he started to pound. She followed his pointing finger distracted, but once her eyes wavered at the white girl her reaction resembled his' of moments before. Then one by one the visitors fell silent as they became aware of the outsider standing there alone. Only the drumming continued, as if it was life's cadence itself. At Nagamao's sign she hesitantly came forward, glancing at everyone with big eyes, uncertain what she was presumed to do.

"Who's she?" The mother of the boy asked no one in particular, raising her voice to be heard.

"I'm Alice Munro," she said with a touch of defiance in her voice.

No reaction. Dark solemn eyes staring back at her.

"You can say Òphùkòn," she added, more timidly this time.

That was some sort of starting signal, for the women and children now flocked around her, touching her skin and hair curiously, while the men continued inspecting her from where they were standing. She underwent their scrutiny resigned, glad to have broken the ice and thinking it provided a chance for her to study them in her turn, although she did it without using her hands, like she had been taught.

After Imala had rescued her, the girls were sitting side by side for a moment near their wigwam and watched all the bustling in front of them. In a way it reminded Alice of long forgotten friends meeting again and she wondered how often they rejoined like this. Furthermore, their sense of timing awed her. There still was so much to learn about the Indian way. But this day was not about learning; Granting herself some leeway she pushed her musing briskly aside. As both girls were enjoying the atmosphere, most of the children from the adjacent clan loitered at close distance, but by now Alice was so accustomed at the inquisitiveness flaunting towards her, she as good as ignored it.

Imala placed her nose on her friends upper arm, inhaled deeply and gave her a meaningful glance. Alice acted like she did not care and in turn started snorting her friends skin, causing Imala to giggle. Alice felt frisky, she knew no other word to describe her state of mind. Was it the unexpected wash? The cloud of resin enfolding her? Her hair dangling freely? She did not know and jested her friend by referring to her aroma preference; "Roses, very original."

Imala got square non-verbally by hauling her up and dragging her towards her brother who was talking to Ahusaka and Uncas near the camp center, the latter with his back towards the girls. His place at the drum was apparently taken over by someone else. She struggled to slow her down, but the native girl held her upper arm in an unrelenting grip. The Mohican was wearing nothing more than a loincloth, albeit an intensely adorned specimen. Although his attire corresponded to those of the other males, she had never seen him this scarcely clad and she tried not to notice it. As Ahusaka's eyes lit up seeing them approach, the Mohican turned around.

"_Naxans!_" Imala greeted her brother. When she had his attention and simultaneously those of the two men standing next to him, she continued saucily; "We look good today, no?"

Alice wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She would have a serious talk with her friend later on and teach her some manners in this respect. Yet a part of her was curious about their reaction and she looked up concealed from under her eyelashes.

Kele just smiled brotherly, but Ahusaka said poetically; "You two look graceful like the deer." His eyes were on the Yengeese girl.

Imala snickered and released her arm, but Alice had no idea how to react to this metaphor and hastily directing her attention at the Mohican. He was viewing her with the same commitment she had noticed during his drumming, but there was something else, something that had not been there earlier. Before his face regained its usual stoic look, she caught him stare at her with the raw expression of a famished man.

Feeling her own neglected stomach suddenly growl for attention, she blurted; "Are you hungry too?"

For a moment Uncas was speechless, then Kele chuckled blatantly while Ahusaka just looked sheepishly. The rules regarding asking, offering, eating and refusing food among the natives were so complex and different from home, that she feared she had been too bold alluding the subject already and she lowered her head in shame to study the slippers at her feet.

Then a deep voice sounded; "Speaking of food ..."

Her hand was captured in a secured hold simultaneously and she was pulled along resolutely by the Mohican, away from the others.

"Where are we going?" Her breathless question was aimed at his robust back.

"You'll see," was all he said, not looking behind.

He seemed to lead her towards the Long House, in which she knew much of the food that had been prepared was stored. He pushed aside the animal skin curtain to let her enter, before he followed her inside. Despite of the beam of light slanting down on the wall through the hole in the roof, the transition from the bright exterior to the dim interior left her sightless for a moment and she halted abruptly. Expecting him to bump onto her she braced herself, but with his usual agility he contrived to pass her sideways, grab her hand again and draw her onwards in one motion. On a long rack against the wall all sorts of jars and pots and bowls and baskets were placed. Most had covers, veiling their content. Intrigued, she leaned forward. The smell encouraged her stomach to audibly grunt, at which he smiled but she flushed.

"Close your eyes." His command intervened with her intention to inspect the food more closely.

"Why?"

"You'll see," he echoed his earlier response.

"How can I see with my eyes closed?" She rebutted, though her eyes were already closed.

"You must look with your mouth. Open it."

His warm voice coaxed her to obey. She tilted her head backwards while slowly parting her lips, trusting him yet still a little warily. She heard a soft rustle and then something was placed carefully on her tongue. At first, she only sensed some wooden kitchen tool, but then a delicious luscious sensation swarmed around her mouth and out of reflex her lips closed around the utensil to prevent it from leaving. At the surprise of tasting such sweetness in the wilderness her eyes popped with astonishment, right up into his dark ones which were much nearer than she anticipated. Gently he retracted the spoon out of her mouth.

"It's so sweet!" she whispered, swallowing. "What is it?"

Uncas was watching her closely. "It's the maple syrup you've helped collecting," he said softly, holding the spoon in his hands between the two of them.

The memory of their quest in the woods and the night spent outside instantly returned and all she could do was look up giddily at his face, while the tip of her tongue browsed her lips for the remaining syrup, waiting for him to speak only he did not and neither did she. The air in the room was warm and thick and she felt deluged uncontrollably by his silent inspection. The beat of the drum by now seemed a component of her physical functioning, as if she would stop living when it would silence.

"Uncas!"

Both startled at the voice of his father who was standing at the entrance, even though he had spoken inhibited. She scooted away from Uncas like he had been about to …. well, she did not know exactly what that might have been and she was suddenly relieved they were not alone anymore.

Chingachgook approached them and rapidly addressed his son in their language. She could not understand a word he was saying. Probably his son being rude to neglect their guests for he left without giving her a second glance, placing the spoon back on the shelf on his way out. She watched him leave before she averted her eyes towards his father, to see him observe her, making her uneasy under his scrutiny, almost like his son had done moments ago although that had tethered her to the ground in a completely different way. The silence lingered.

"Shall we go outside," Chingachgook finally asked, although she perceived it not really to be a question.

She let herself be steered out of the Long House, wondering if _she_ had done something wrong, sensing some faint censure in his demeanor, but his gaze revealed nothing of what he was thinking.

_Author's note: Thanks again for your (continuously) reviewing and supporting._


	21. Chapter 21

"Like my new moccasins, _Xansa_?" Imala's question was straightforward as ever.

He looked up from the fire he had been prodding with a charred branch and side-glanced baffled at the additions she was indicating, wondering what was so special about them. He had seen many better made than these.

He shrugged. "Sure. Why?"

"Òphùkòn made them for me. Surprised me this morning." She kept her foot twirling around in the air, her head tilted sideways while she inspected the shoe like it affected a most careful deliberation she had to make. She was taking a short break from cooking duties and was sitting on the rock he could draw by memory by now, but then with the white girl settled there.

"She did?" The items that had seemed futile only moments ago, all at once intrigued him and he leaned forward to study them more closely. At second glance they still were not expertly made, far from it actually, but somehow the irregular stitches and carefully covered up bulges implied a labor of love.

"Sweet, don't you think?" Imala bobbed her head.

He did not answer but silently he agreed.

The native girl rose to help him carry the heavy load of the skinned deer that had been roasting above the fire. Each of them lifted a far end of the long branch pierced through the animal and maneuvered their quarry on an uneven shelf on the ground where it would be easier to turn it over one more time. After they had twisted the branch half a turn they placed it back between the two V-shaped poles sticking into the ground on opposite sides of the fire. He usually was not involved in such feminine matters in camp, but preparing an entire deer was no mean feat, not even for Imala, hence the native girl having stopped rollicking and the Mohican warrior helping out her as he was the only one available nearby. He did not mind though, still not quite used to the luxury of having his food prepared for him every day. Living a life of constant travel with his father and brother meant work did not stop once game had been caught and stating his skinning and cooking abilities were deft and confident would not be exaggerated. Besides, there was something very satisfactory about gazing into a fire that slowly smouldered one's dinner into readiness. However, at the moment he was looking at the convivial and cheerful natives spread around camp, catching up in various sized and composed groups on all the events that had happened since they last met. He saw several gifts being exchanged and heard pleased exclamations, although he rather deduced the latter from their facial expressions, since the repeatedly pounding on the drum overwhelmed all sounds further away. Ahusaka was presently part of the music making.

After all but being expelled by his father from the Long House he had dawdled around camp, greeting an acquaintance here and embracing an old friend there, before he arrived at the camp center. The unwitting cause of his reproof was occupied with the visiting children and all of them were clustered together near her wigwam. She did not seem to mind though and he felt the corners of his lips quirk as he watched her gesticulating through their many questions, her bare arms waving through the air.

"Are you happy here, cousin?" Imala's soft voice popped up from behind him. In spite of her addressing him like one, they were not actually related. It was merely the Indian way between friends.

"Sure. How so?" He said, absent-mindedly wiping the soot off his hands.

"Well ….. you've never stayed this long," she said thoughtfully as she followed his gaze.

"Promised my brother keep an eye on the white haired sister," Uncas explained, still staring at the one he was referring to.

"Oh. _That's_ what you've been doing," she said teasingly, to add after a while; "You had me wondering there …"

Uncas refused to be drawn. He just smiled and averted his eyes to look at the girl he had first seen when she was only a tiny screaming tot. He was quite fond of her and his feelings for her abutted those a cousin or perhaps even a little sister might have evoked. Her occasional noisy banter fooled many, but not him. One day she would follow in Nagamao's footsteps and be the tribe's clan mother and there was no doubt in his mind she was well-suited for the job - well ….. perhaps after some necessary refining, that was. Her jesting could make one's blood boil, but it was alternated with moments of profound insight far beyond her years. Her natural authority turned the scale though. He had seen her exercising it many times, over the other girls for instance. Even the one's who were a few years her senior thought twice before taking her for a ride and not just because of her mother. It was _she _who did not endure it. At the same time did it alienate her from those girls and solitude loomed. During the last couple of weeks she had set herself up as Alice's guardian, had taught her their ways, their speech and presumably other matters in the feminine sphere, in essence, had rescued her from exclusion. Thinking of the unexpected close bond that had been forged between both girls he suddenly wondered if the reverse also applied. Perhaps the presence of the white girl had filled a void of which existence he had not even been aware.

In accordance with his line of thought he asked; "What 'bout you?"

"Me? Don't think changing the subject we'll get you off the hook," she threatened. "You always do that," continuing sulkily, "getting to know you sometimes feels like peeling an onion."

Seeing his puzzled expression, she clarified; "So many layers."

The comparison made him grin and her vigor assuaged his concern for the time being.

He noticed new stragglers kept trickling in the village, ever increasing the share of newcomers. Their arrival pleased him and not just for the obvious reason. Contact between villages belonging to the same tribe was common and usually many footpaths crisscrossed the lands separating them. Their present isolated location hampered such occasional visits and food depletion forcing them to migrate to another was not an issue yet. The innate custom to bond with someone outside one's own village forced him in the unenviable position of desirable marriage candidate, as a result of which some of the young girls had badgered the white girl, sensing competition, although she probably thought her white skin induced this behavior. The incident with the knife stood to reason her innocent nature was an obstacle impeding her to see through their intentions. She was so naïve, he thought grimly and wondered if it was a general trait for white girls. Thinking of her sister, he ruled that possibility out immediately. It was not the first time one of her characteristics both endeared and vexed him.

His eyes strayed absently around camp to rest at the group of children again and the one sitting amidst them. Her attitude was childlike as ever, but the way she lately had transformed outwardly was anything but. Still, he had only sensed his self-control needed restriction after his father had urged him to keep himself in check and a part of him was glad for the interruption from doing something that probably was premature, as far as she was concerned, that was. _Manito_ knew, _he_ was ready! He breathed out heavily, trying to focus on something else. The sun was about to set, but already a dim haziness was perceptible in the warm evening air. He would not be surprised if the weather would spoil the glee untimely, having seen many a broiling day like this end in a thunderstorm. Suddenly he distinguished Sakima motioning him. His presence seemed to be expected on the other side of camp. He was glad for the distraction it would offer and looked down at the native girl who was crouching beside the cooking pots and asked; "You alright here?"

"Of course I am," she dismissed his consideration. "Go and do whatever it is you must do."

"You actually think you can handle things without me?" He quipped back.

She answered by waving the poke imminently at him with a glint of humor in her eyes and he walked away amused.

When he arrived at the Wolf Totem the men who were sitting circle-wise in front of it were just about to light the tobacco pipe. The natives valued it greatly and not merely for the flavor and to legitimize the excuse of enjoying each other's silence and basically doing nothing more than that. The act of smoking tobacco was also considered to be sacred and sometimes even to elucidate. It had to be treated with respect and was frequently used as an offering to the spirits and for other rituals. The tribe members cultivated the indigenous wild tobacco plant themselves and one could always detect the vague scent of the drying leaves and blossoms in the Long House.

He acknowledged the honor of being allowed to join the elders by greeting them deferentially. He was not surprised to find his father already present. Quietly he sat down on the ground and crossed his legs. Then the pipe, consisting of a long wooden stem elaborately decorated with feathers, was passed around. One after another the men inhaled before blowing out slowly and thanking _Manito_ for the benevolence bestowed on them, whereupon the appurtenance was passed on again.

When the pipe was offered to Uncas he put the mouthpiece to his lips and sucked in appreciatively, savoring the stimulating aroma of the tobacco. He tilted his head back and looked at the sky, focusing on the feel of the fume filling his lunges. The vibration of the continually pulsing drum abated and he found himself enclosed by trees. His field of vision narrowed as he locked the target above the barrel of his musket and the deer was all he saw. Then he tardily released the smoke, held the pipe with both hands in front of him and solemnly thanked _Mesingw_ aloud for his gift and for the food it would provide them with tonight. The _Manitowuk_ he had just addressed was one of the lesser deities and the keeper of the game and guardian of the forest. Suddenly he could actually smell the pine trees and that was when his apparition transformed. The deer no longer was alone. A young woman in a thin white garb had approximated and the animal nuzzled her fingers tentatively. His steady aim quavered. When his perception of the drum gradually returned, together with the people amidst whom he was sitting, the image coiled upwards and volatilized amongst the smoke. He aroused perturbed to find the man on his left waiting patiently for him to pass the pipe and he complied heedlessly with his unassuming request.

After the pipe had fully circled which concluded the ritual and Uncas had regained composure, he clasped hands with the man sitting on his right and they exchanged courteous greetings. His name was Hassun and he was the war chief of the visiting Indians. Their friendship went way back, although they did not meet frequently. Unlike Sakima, the _Sachem_ who had been chosen in his present home for the wisdom of his behavior, words and decisions, their guests did not dispose of someone in that position. Hassun had gained power for his battle skills and bravery. Indeed, even in a sitting position his posture was imposing, once more accentuated by the fierce strokes painted on his face and chest. He had a necklace made of bear claws around his neck. After a bear was killed, its claws were worn by the hunter as a mark of respect for the bear's spirit and as a sign of the wearer's hunting expertise. The fact bears were rarely seen near the Indian settlements was all the more reason he certainly was not a man to be trifled with, although he could also be quite charming if he wanted to.

"Never expected seeing you and your father up here."

"Been here couple of weeks," Uncas replied.

"Your brother here too? Haven't seen him so far." Although he did not doubt the sincerity of his interest, inquiring firstly about one's close relatives was much appreciated by the natives. Uncas valued it even more, given the fact his brother was of white birth.

"No, he isn't here."

Hassun seized him for a moment, then said; "Thought you were heading for _Can-tuck-ee_."

"That we were, something else came up," Uncas said.

"Enlighten me," Hassun said drily.

The Mohican concisely rendered the events leading to their presence at camp.

"Hmmm …. not in favor of saving white people, yet you did well vanquishing the Huron."

Their distrust of the Huron was mutual, but he did not share his disdain for the white men. He knew he was only given the benefit of the doubt because those he had rescued belonged to the female gender. Nonetheless, Uncas bowed his head to acquiesce his appraisal. Changing the subject, he said; "How's it with you?"

"Can't complain," the other said after some thought.

"And Aranck?"

Hassun's wife had died four summers ago, right after giving childbirth to his son, whom he had named Aranck. Since the boy was the only tangible result of their union, his adoration for the child seemed limitless. Generally, native men did not wait long before taking on a new wife, not out of disrespect or because they did not grieve the deceased properly. Everyone agreed it was unnatural for a man to remain alone, although that very status still applied to his own father. Uncas's mother had died when he was only a child. So far, Hassun had not remarried either.

"It's been hard. Boy doesn't sleep well," he sighed. To add after some time; "Misses a feminine touch, in spite of his aunts and grandmothers."

Uncas got the distinct feeling the last revelation rather pertained to the spouseless man himself, but he did not want to pry into something that might not be meant for sharing and simply nodded. Giving the other some space after his veiled admission, he looked around for the one who had drifted miraculously into his vision. He could not see her from his sitting position though, only a cloud of children near the central camp fire, probably waiting in anticipation for the venison to be ready. Just when a light anxiety was creeping up his spine, she came into view again and he sighed. A hissing sound simultaneously leaving the mouth of the man next to him interrupted his musing.

"Is that otherworldly creature the rescued one?" Hearing Hassun's voice was feeling a chill wind.

"Yes," he said grudgingly, not liking the other's parsing look.

"Introduce us," Hassun's command was peremptory. He excused himself from leaving the circle of elders and lithely rose to his feet. Uncas followed his example. However, before he could comply with his request, he noticed Aranck mysteriously had sensed his father's wish and was already heading their way, zealously dragging the white girl along, though the look on the lad's face revealed a whole different valuation.

"_Nohsh_! _Nohsh_!" He called his father. And when he noticed the Mohican standing next to him; "Uncas!"

The boy let go of the white girl's hand and ran the last bit towards the Mohican, who caught the child and lifted him high into the air, his action inciting a squeal of joy from the boy.

"Look what I've found," Aranck said excitedly to both males, pointing backwards.

Uncas set the boy down on the ground and followed his finger to see the English girl advancing dilatorily. He assumed not only the boy's enthusiasm but the long hard look she was getting from his father as well were to blame for her diffidence. Aranck's fervor did not placate his father, rather the opposite and he looked her up and down for a long time. Suffice to say the girl highlighted the gathering like a beacon in the night, although she was modestly embellished compared to the excessively adorned natives. It was her natural pale appearance which unequivocally contradicted every native near. Uncas sensed Hassun merely saw an anomaly by looking at her, whereas he saw the delicacy of her foreign features and the other man's inability to do the same stung.

"Can she understand our speech?" The war chief asked derisively.

"Most of it," Uncas said.

Hassun addressed her by saying; "Do you think you've earned the welcome you've received here, being a member of the people responsible for so much suffering?"

"Hassun!" Uncas exclaimed, appalled by the man's question.

The chieftain raised a hand to stop the Mohican from interfering and kept looking at the girl, his brows furrowed. As Alice did not understand, she looked at Uncas for a translation and probably some moral support. Uncas gave the former with utter reluctance and would have gladly given the latter, but did not know how. As a result, a direct hit in the face could not have cowered her more and he watched her throat as she swallowed. He would have given anything to flee the scene with her, but stood nailed to the ground instead. The little boy shot unintelligible glances at the three adults, not having expected this turn of events and his face revealed his vacillating thoughts. He grabbed the girl's hand and jerked it lightly in a puerile attempt to ease the hapless situation. He was able to draw her attention and she smiled warily as she beheld his confused eyes.

"This is your son?" She asked in the Indian speech, her tone of voice bravely withstanding her bashed state of mind. She tilted her head to defy the look of the boy's father, her eyes glowing green.

As Hassun did not condescend to answer, she continued; "You must be proud of him," again in flawless though torpid Indian diction, using her free hand out of habit to support her words.

Then she squeezed the boy's hand before she released it. After an awkward curtsy she left the men, who looked rather small after her little lesson in gentility, albeit for diverging reasons. Although Hassun's words in itself had not been excessively insolent, his timing and tone of voice definitely had. To make it worse, he had failed to protect her adequately and describing Uncas's feelings as undesired and irked would not even come close. All he could manage was a curt nod to the man he always had considered a friend, whereupon he took off to buck up the one for whom his heart was aching. Though before he was able to catch up with her, he was accosted by another male guest, whose name had slipped his mind. Ignoring him was not an option, it simply would not be polite, so they started talking, or rather, he tried to listen while the other spoke, in the meanwhile forced to see the girl move away from him again. It seemed as though everyone present was conspiring with his father to keep them separated.

The other did not waste time to say what was on his mind and after a short introduction he said; "Heard Mohawks came by couple weeks ago."

"That they did."

"And?"

"Tribe declined."

"Good for them. It's a perilous situation though."

"Hmmm."

He saw her approach Chumani, whose child seemed to be crying at her chest.

"How come you're here with your father? Where's your brother?"

Uncas shortly reported their present family situation, his eyes on the white girl's back.

"Which fort your brother went to?"

"Oswego," he said distractedly.

"Oswego?"

"Yes. Why?"

He glimpsed her taking over the little boy from the other woman.

"You didn't go with your brother? Heard the fort's under French siege."

That unraveled the reason for his delay, but he merely said; "It is?"

"One of our guides told us. So, this changes things?"

Uncas shrugged. "Not really. It is not our war."

He discerned she was rocking the boy in her arms.

"You're refusal got anything to do with the strange one I've noticed walking around camp?"

Now he smiled almost inconceivably, but he did not answer.

"How did you meet?"

He gave a brief outline once more, while the other man listened intently. In spite of his focus being on something totally different, Uncas was able to perceive the other's interest was not feigned.

"And that Huron was their guide?"

"Yes."

He noticed her walking away from camp, still carrying the boy, presumably to seclude herself at the lakeside.

"Hmmm. Sounds like blood vengeance to me. Perhaps something girl's father did?"

"Could be."

The same thought had crossed his mind, but he had never uttered it.

"What happened to the Huron?"

"Brother shot him."

He did not like her being alone, present company clasped at her chest excluding.

"Good for him."

"Hmmm."

Then she vanished out of his sight, slipping between the trees and shrubbery blocking the view of the lake.

"Does the white haired know the reason for the ambush?"

"No!" Uncas said firmly, not wanting to put her on that track. He had no desire whatsoever to shatter the image she had of her father too. After a while, he felt he could truncate their talk and he excused himself for leaving.

Twilight was already setting in when he slipped out of camp to head for the lake. It was not long before the sound of the drum waned while the chirping of the crickets contested with the ribbitting of the frogs which were best clamored to substitute it. The fading light would have troubled tracking to any other than he who had partially contributed to the way she smelled tonight and he inhaled deeply, relishing the faint resinous aroma mixed with her own scent. When he had reached the lakeshore and had rounded one of the bends she came into view, sitting on the bank of the lake, leaning against a boulder. She was staring across the water of which the dark surface was covered with a fluffy layer of mist. For a moment he halted to watch her, knowing she did not know he was there. The little boy was oblivious to the world around him and had surrendered to sleep completely, his cheek pressed against her chest. Still she softly patted his back and for a moment he wondered who was consoling who. The evening air was motionless, similarly holding its breath, waiting. He did not want to impose on her and the memory of his father's reproach came to his mind. Then the echo of his words was repealed by his unexpected vision and the thought of rescuing her from her self-imposed exile prevailed. Slowly he continued, a stubborn gleam in his dark eyes.

Needless to say she did not hear him coming and she looked up in surprise when he lowered himself on the stony ground beside her. The half-light did not hide the melancholy in her eyes, but she averted them swiftly by caressing her cheek with the little boys head before pressing a kiss on the tousled hair. The nearness of the child's black hair to her skin combined with the openness of such tender affection caused his stomach to free-fall.

"I'm sorry for Aranck's father," he hastened to say.

She shrugged and resumed her look over the lake. "It doesn't matter." The sadness in her voice contradicted her words.

"It does to me," he said frankly.

Her lips folded in a coy smile and she searched his eyes. Hers were shining in the dusk, but he could not tell if she was about to cry or not.

"Every time it hurts I try to imagine how it would've been the other way around," she said.

He raised his eyebrows and she explained; "Well …. suppose you'd come to England. How we would've treated you. I doubt it would even come close to reception I've received here…." Her extenuation for Hassun's behavior ended in a whisper. She started stroking the back of the boy.

The thought of him coming to her land had never crossed his mind and to hear it apparently had hers surprised and pleased him at the same time. "I better not go then," he said softly.

She shook her head slowly, still looking at him with big serious eyes. Before he knew it his hand reached out to touch her face and only at the last moment was he able to hold back and point at the adorable little dots on her cheekbones instead.

"There are now more of these ….. freckles?" His deep voice chaffed her light-heartedly.

Despite the gloom he could see her cheeks colored, setting her freckles in a different hue and he watched intrigued. She lowered her eyes, but her bashful smile proved she did remembered their first conversation by the lake and his remark with which he indirectly had called her beautiful.

"Uncas?"

"Hmmm?" He could easily perceive her desire to change the subject, yet he liked to hear his name leave her mouth. She pronounced the two syllables slightly different than he was used to hearing, making it sound more …. mellow, more .… amiable.

"How old is the boy?"

This question surprised him. He contemplated before he said; "Think he was born last year's fall. Why?"

"Then why isn't he named yet?"

The sincerity in her voice proved she wanted to understand the native ways, but her question left him torn and he leaned back to gaze for a moment at the waxing moon glowing orange above the trees in the distance. Sadly, it was not uncommon for the Creator to take away the children he had blessed his people initially with and as a rule children were only named after they had passed that troublesome start of their life successfully. The little boy she was holding in a loving hug had not fully overcome this period. But he knew by telling her he would only cause her grief. Moreover, he had seen the effect referring to reality's harshness had on her and he surely was not about making _that_ mistake again. Not here. Not now.

"Alice…" He was not able to suppress his despondency entirely and she looked up at him once more, insecurity written all over her face.

He collected himself. "Indian life can be bleak, Alice. Sometimes _Kitanitowit_ does things we don't want to happen. That's why Chumani and Kele wait. Do you understand? They believe naming him already could provoke him_."_

Her face stared back at him with a look of impotent incomprehension and fear.

"No reason this little fellow-", his hand reached out to touch the boys hair, "-not growing up to become a strong man." He could see this remark did not assuage the impact of his words and he sighed.

"I'm sorry," she swallowed with difficulty.

His hand wavered upwards to end at her face. He wanted to let her know he did not mind and this time his thumb brushed away the tear coursing down while he cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes, but leaned her head against his hand. He wanted to kiss her then, to take away her sorrow with his mouth and he was about to forget his father's earnest plea when the sound of footsteps approaching barred his intention. He removed his hand and looked back to see Chumani slandering their way. When Alice had spotted the other woman too, she drew away from him and rose quietly. Uncas also got up, but she refused to look up at him. Instead, she carefully tore loose the boy clasped at her front to hand him over to Chumani. After the native woman had secured the undiminished soundless sleeping boy into her cloth she noticed the girl's wet cheeks.

"Òphùkòn? You've been crying?" She asked worriedly. Then she faced the Mohican. "Uncas?"

Uncas did not reply and Alice hastened to say; "I'm fine. It's nothing. Just a little homesick …" She had spoken English and Uncas translated out of habit. Their collective effort to ease the other's concern succeeded for Chumani squeezed her shoulder lightly before she started to walk back, murmuring against the child. The Mohican and the Yengeese watched her leave, standing side by side on the rock at the lake's edge. After she was gone it was completely silent again, but for the animal calls around them and the drum in the distance. Then Uncas turned to face the girl beside him. She turned too, but kept gazing at his chest persistently, forcing him to look down at her light hair. Neither of them knew what to say next. But her stomach did and she placed both hands in front of it in an ingenuous attempt to appease the growling, looking up now with an apologetic smile.

He was pleased to see the anguish erased from her face, yet he asked severely; "Did you eat anything at all today?"

"No," she said resigned.

"Come!" Resolutely he grasped her elbow to lead her back towards camp.

Together they walked along the shoreline, but when the wafts of music grew more persistent, she tarried and then paused. He waited in wonder.

"That man …. what if he ….?" She whispered.

He knew exactly whom she referred to.

"Think you've got nothing to worry," he said and nearly added; 'But it's better to stay close to me, just in case.' He refrained from speaking those words, but he did decide not to leave her side for the rest of the night. Yes, it would be flouting his father's wishes, but he did not care anymore. The extent to which she had been exposed to impudence warranted his resolve to keep her close.

Her eyes narrowed as she took in his features, trying to interpret his decisiveness in the dark. He did not know if she had when a grateful smile appeared upon her face. He placed his warm hand against her lower back anyway to usher her onwards to where the merriment had already started, suddenly looking forward to joining in it.


	22. Chapter 22

An owl was advertising his territory from a horizontal limb of a tree nearby. Uncas listened to its sinister hooting until it faltered and the smothered silence prevailed again. Night was well on its way, although the celebrating natives had only just called it a day.

He was sitting motionless on one of the roots grounding a huge hemlock, a perfect spot to overlook the camp. The natives populating it, a northern tribe of the Lenape, or Lenni-Lenape as they called themselves, were affable people who lived in harmony with nature and each other and trusted the Great Manito to guide and protect them. Uncas, on the other hand, had faced too many foes to take concord for granted and turning a blind eye to the disadvantage of living in an unfortified settlement was simply not in his nature. For this reason he had decided he could just as well make himself useful and safeguard its slumbering citizens for the time nobody else did, aided by his father, who was of the same mind. Besides, being up and awake for a part of the night pertained just as much to his normal routine as taking a snooze to gain on sleep during daytime, an advantage - or disadvantage, depending on the angle one looked at it - of a life without a permanent home. 'Sleeping with his eyes open', his brother would sometimes jeer his state of mind while he was keeping watch, to which Uncas usually smiled by way of an answer, unable to refute its truth. Over the years, he had refined his prowess to doze while his senses remained keen on any sight, sound or even scent out of the ordinary. As a result, nighttime and the foraging habits of crepuscular and nocturnal animals held just as little secrets to him as daytime and those of diurnal ones. So when a resonance whooshing behind him heralded the prowl of the powerful predator had begun, he merely digested it subconsciously, likewise the fact that another bird or mammal in the vicinity would end up its prey. And if such was unwilling to cooperate, he knew the great bird of night most likely to dine on daintier fare, such as mice, frogs or even tiny scorpions, as picking apart its pellets had proved more than once.

The only other sound infringing the stillness, apart from the drums still reverberating in his ears, was a sporadic snore or snuffle in front of him, roughly indicating the area where his kinsmen were sleeping under the frayed blanket of a half-clouded sky. In line with tradition, the hosting Indians had put their wigwams and beds at their guests disposal, a courtesy the latter had accepted gracefully. It did force the former to spend the night outside, but any inconvenience, as far as this was even regarded as such, had been waved aside. Uncas was able to distinguish numerous shapes stretched out across the terrain, their position on the ground reflecting the makeup of their family. This was probably the reason not all forms lying dormant and a few significantly bigger ones moving surreptitiously and rhythmically. It was no mystery to him what was going on under the cover of darkness and furs and he could not blank a smile, understanding the need after an evening filled with stirring music and dancing, but he did avert his eyes the other way, uncomfortable to witness something that was not meant for him to see. It was not long before his gaze nestled upon the contours of someone whose identity was no mystery to unravel either, the way her hair and skin mirrored the glistening stars and his eyes were drawn to her silvery locks like a moth to a flame. She seemed to be sound asleep and was situated near the women whose wigwam she shared, her location at the outer reaches a silent testimony of her precarious position in the native community.

A flash of lightning coursing through the clouds reminded him of his earlier assumption. He frowned, hoping the nearing thunderstorm would resemble a whimsical woman and still change course, like his father had implied before turning in. He secured his hold of his musket though, as if this device would actually remedy the situation in case it did not pass them unnoticed. Although nothing had indicated he might actually need them, he had not left his wigwam without his trustworthy companions; his knife sheathed at his side, his tomahawk tucked into his belt behind his back and of course his rifle in his hands. In doing so, he was mindful of his father, who liked to say worst dangers did not lurk in hazardous situations when one was armed to the teeth, but in deceitful tranquility. His father had also taught him from youth onwards to trust his instincts when reading a track or interpreting a sign and more than once this skill had saved him out of perilous predicaments. Yet reading a young woman's body language was another matter altogether, quite apart from the fact the female concerned was raised in a culture where different proprieties reigned, which tonight had proven yet again. For what did it mean when she no longer looked away from him in fear, what is more, when she smiled at him, multiple times at that, albeit invariably shyly. Was she simply showing gratitude? Or worse, being polite? The other reason for him to seize the opportunity to prolong the evening, not wanting it to be over quite yet, was to feast upon budding possibilities, without disregarding safety regulations, obviously.

Lightning followed by a dawdling rumble interrupted his musings anew, but more persistent this time. He got up slowly and stretched his legs, thoughtfully inhaling the sultry air, which was all but palpable enough to lean against. He guessed it would not be long before it triggered a severe shower. The turgid masses rushing in from the southwest and occasionally luminescing the sky seemed to substantiate his hunch and he set course for the place he knew his father to rest. A light touch at the shoulder was all it took to wake him and he threw off sleep like any other would cast off a blanket.

"What'll we do?" Uncas mumbled, the wave of his arm comprised the men, women and children sleeping in the proximity. His father leaped to his feet unperturbed and tipped back his head to ponder the southwestern sky.

"We take refuge in the Long House," he quickly settled the matter. "Better wake everybody outside."

"_Nuks_," Uncas agreed.

They split up and went in different directions. Used to the vagaries of the weather, the Indians were not too much taken aback by someone disrupting their sleep in the black of night and a simple nudge with a short clarification was sufficient to arise and collect their family. For reasons he did not care to elaborate, he gestured to Nagamao he would tend the Yengeese girl and by the time he had reached her, she was the last one sleeping and thunder and lightning were sneaking up on each other. He crouched beside her and studied her features, her natural paleness more than willing to assist him. His mouth softened as he took in her state. She was lying on her back with one arm tossed upwards upon her sprawling hair and a hand hugging her cheek. Just then a murmur he could not make sense of passed her slightly parted lips, proving she was dreaming. Suddenly he was reticent to shatter her slumber. The fur had been kicked aside somewhere during the night, but the crook of her other arm held onto it adamantly, as if she derived some other comfort from it besides warmth and coverage.

He touched her shoulder and whispered her name, at which she uttered a delightful moan. Yet she merely rolled onto her side, grasped his hand and tucked it against her chest in the process, to continue sleeping imperturbably. He sighed. Not that it did not feel good, there was no denying that, but he knew she would never be so bold if she had been awake. He was about to inch back his hand when another flash that lightened the entire area with a scathing intensity and made her face shine eerily white, woke her up anyhow. Her big eyes with constricting pupils stared directly at him without giving any sign of recollection, as if he was not supposed to make an entrance in her dreams yet and he felt oddly discarded.

"Wake up," he said softly, entangling his hand from her grip.

She rolled onto her back again, but bolted upright at the blow of the thunder and he deftly recoiled so their heads would not collide.

"Uncas?" Her otherwise melodic voice cracked from sleep. She raised both hands to rub her eyes with her knuckles, shaking her head drowsily. Her white shoulders bobbed up between the jumbles of her hair that brushed the ground. When she questioned what was going on, reality came hurrying back and he wanted to get her out of harm's way without further delay.

"Storm's coming," he answered truthfully while he rose.

She groaned in protest, but yielded to the hand helping her up. He stooped to pick up the fur, then steered her towards the Long House. The next series of vitriolic flashes made her move closer to his side and she only tarried when the entrance emerged like a yawning maw of darkness.

"Come," he placated her after making sure no one had stayed behind and he gently pulled her inside and curtained the doorway behind her.

The left side of the rectangular shaped building housed Sakima and his family, even that night, a fortunate circumstance compelled by his prominent position, but the remaining part was big enough to function as a social meeting place or a shelter, which now came in useful. There usually was a fire on in the middle, but for some reason that particular night brought no such comforts and the place was pitch-black.

She kept lingering near the entrance and he heard her whisper the names of Imala and Chumani. The thick night air muffled her meager voice. He guessed these were not familiar scenes to her and he could almost feel her relief when both women made their presence known from different places on the ground, though she approached neither one.

A flame of whiteness piercing through the chinks in the wall and the hole in the roof illuminated those sheltering uncannily. Quickly he scanned the room. Most were cuddled together or had already resumed sleeping positions all across the floor with the exception of the middle section and a place near the back wall. Lightning was nearly seamlessly followed by a blast cleaving the heavens and he rather sensed than saw she bent under its intimidation. He searched and found her hand, then crossed the room, occasionally zigzagging to avoid protruding limbs the light had shown him to be there. After reaching the back wall, he affirmed to his father everyone was inside, then crouched down, his hand silently inviting her to sit beside him, thinking with everything that had happened that night they had reached some sort of understanding.

Clearly he thought wrong, for she pulled her hand away and drew back against the wall.

"I'm not a child," she said scornfully.

He wondered where she had gotten that idea. He would have gladly shown her how he _did_ see her, but he knew this was neither the proper time nor place and he accepted her rejection stoically. However, an ear deafening outburst indicating lightning striking very close, enforced by a waft of sulfur seeping in, apparently vaporized all prudish determination into thin air, for she practically threw herself at him at once. His mindset was not calibrated to the mood swings of a tender lady, but he managed to stifle her scream of terror with his chest as he braced himself from falling backwards. Then he reacted to her capitulation in the only way he saw fit; Enclosing her entirely in his embrace. By the time the downpour started to drum the covering abrasively while the wind ran amok, her arms were clutched around his waist as well. The poles were grinding and groaning in their elm bark enfold and the whole structure was shaking in its very foundation, as though the forces of nature were determined to subvert the house. Still, there was no doubt in his mind it was built solid enough to keep them save. She probably thought the entire roof would lift off, the way she hid her face even deeper into his chest. Her ragged breath brushed his skin and he entangled one of his arms to touch the back of her head. Then he waited and while the storm unleashed its fury, his fingers reached the velvet of her neck and started to stroke it softly. It seemed to ease her, for her breathing gradually normalized, or perhaps it was merely the storm abating. When the worst was over, she gave a little murmur and her grip slightly slackened, but she did not withdraw. By this time, his hand was smoothing her hair, thoughtlessly removing a few blades of grass here and there, while his mind wandered to different times and places when similar conditions had harassed him, though the contentment presently absorbing him had been lacking. The only things bothering him right now were the absence of his brother and her sister and not knowing their whereabouts.

"_Manto wuw kumihkunumuq wayômanicuk_," he silently prayed for the Creator to keep them safe.

A soft rustle indicated his father was rising to take the next watch, but lips stirring his skin pleasantly focused his attention to the girl in his arms and when he noticed she had fallen asleep, he wondered about the rightness of it all, in spite of the swath of devastation the storm undoubtedly would leave behind. Fortunately, there were lots of strong men around to help repair whatever needed repairing to which he would see himself in the morning.

When a chill crept in the air he reached for the fur that had been lying forgotten on the ground. Carefully, he wrapped it around her. After detaching his tomahawk, he tightened his abdominal muscles and stretched out on the floor, still holding her close. She heaved a little sigh and shuffled sleepily half on top of him. For a short time he lay there listening to a stray drop of rain falling down on the dead fire, then he also capitulated, that was to say, to the first restorative slumber in weeks.

* * *

Round and round the fire the women circled, dancing a dance that seemed to originate from a time the world was still young. The way the Indians invoked and appeased their gods with chants and music allured and befuddled her at the same time, even without actually twirling along. The whole spectacle for that matter was more confounding than her weirdest fantasy and if somebody would have told her sleep and wakefulness mysteriously had swopped places, she probably would have believed it. Probably would have been overwhelmed by it too, if it had not been for the man beside her, anchoring her with his presence alone - just as self-evident as persistent. And when venomous light succeeded the heartwarming glow of the fires and petrifying blasts the beating of the drum, she clung onto him as to dear life itself. Then everything faded into oblivion and she was revolving herself, somewhere in time and space, musing over a pair of dark eyes observing her.

Veiled laughter and a brush at her hand strived for the right to wake her. The sound temporarily waned and she vaguely perceived the touch to wander ever so slowly across her forearm, then idle at her side, to move upwards towards her chest. The subsequent exchange of heat at waist level prompted her to open her eyes. Something was not right!

It was that first moment of awareness. When one's visions are still vivid enough to actually hold them true despite their grotesqueness. When a domestic scene like plants hanging down from a rhombic ceiling seemed stunning. But after having looked around she was able to establish she was lying under her animal blanket in the Long House, abandoned and alone apart from two unfamiliar boys who were squatting near the entrance and chuckling mischievously at her, while something warm and strange was ensconcing itself on her stomach. The inertia of fear rolled through her and for a moment she just lay there. Then she pulled up her fur and peeked underneath, to set off the next events with dizzying speed; Her jumping up in a frenzy to be separated from the horror attached to her, the rascals scooting outside guffawing and the beast moving through the air before thudding onto the sand floor. The scream cocooned by the dense room must have been hers, although it did not sound familiar and she never noticed it leaving her mouth, nor the people rushing inside shortly afterwards, since her gaze was locked with the fur under which the animal was taking refuge.

The touch of a calloused hand on her bare shoulder instantly revoked the sliding of dry scales along her skin and she shook it off frantically. Only after someone grabbing her firmly and forcing her to look him in the eyes, she recognized Chingachgook. The man with the claw necklace was standing beside him and they both looked quizzically at her. For a moment their presence eased her, though her ability to speak refused to return just yet and she pointed feebly at the hide she had flung against the wall in agony. Never before did the resemblance with his son strike her more as Chingachgook, not quite knowing what he was dealing with, stooped to pick up a wet branch from the fireplace before approaching the fur, all purposefulness and caution. At one fell swoop he exposed the malice hiding underneath and the other man pitched forward to grasp it nimbly at the front. Then the chieftain held up his hand as if showcasing a pet animal while his face broke into a smile. Although the snake was coiling desperately to come free, she could see it was about half her length, with three yellow stripes running along its greyish green body that was as thick as her fist. She had her heart in her mouth when the snake suppressor stretched out his hand and brought the reptile repulsively close. Instantaneously she shrunk back, whereupon his nose wrinkled in disdain. A whimper escaped her throat. Was he mad? Or was everything happening only a figment of her imagination? Bereft of her composure after a full day and night of events assaulting her senses, she did not wait to find out, but beat a hasty retreat, pushing aside the people standing between her and her way out. She jerked away the entrance flap and scurried along, ignoring Chumani's call as she passed her wigwam, just determined to put as much distance as possible between her and the Long House. Her feet randomly chose one of the paths fanning out of the village and she did not feel the stones and twigs stinging at her bare soles. After a while the forest enveloped her and the path shriveled to a quavering thread, still she raced up and down the slopes, swerving the branches that tried to grope her hair, until a river finally obstructed her way. By that time, her breath was wheezing and her heart was pounding in her chest like the hoofs of an insanely trotting horse. She sagged onto the swollen moss covering the riverbank and looked dazzled at the innumerable birches around her. Their exfoliating barks diluted into beige and yellow smudges as her mind callously forced her to rewind the incident that had just happened.

Although surrounded by serenity, the glide of snake belly on hers still abhorred her and a shiver coursed through her. For as long as she could remember, creatures squirming or worming their way through existence had been scaring her out of her wits. Even looking at their picture in a book made her flesh crawl. It was to be expected their paths ultimately had to cross in the new continent, but having one put in her bed and being mocked because of her fright on top of it was all too much. Still. Was that reason enough to come apart at the seams? To dash off like an invalid schoolgirl?

Gradually, her heartbeat resumed its normal pace and she wiped away the tears with the knuckles of both hands, trying to suppress the anger and shame fighting for supremacy inside. Why could she not be more like her sister, she writhed, not for the first time in her life. Cora would never let someone like that …. that … warlord-or-whatever-he-was, unveil her weaknesses this villainously. Not that she knew her sister to have any, for that matter.

She sobbed. Undoubtedly, she had turned herself into the laughing stock of the native village. How could she ever show her face again? Then an idea nestled in her head; What if she would simply walk away and never return to this gruesome place? That would take him down a peg or two, would it not? Oh, why had Uncas not been there to protect her?

The rushing of the water drowned down her anguish. She had been fiddling with her small side braids and when she had managed to entangle them, she started to comb her hair with her fingers thoughtlessly, as always deriving comfort at the touch, recalling someone assuaging her likewise very recently. It merely opened the floodgates and other memories of the previous night surfaced. The devotion apparent on Imala's face as she danced to the music. The sound of Nagamao's voice as she hollered into the dark sky. The breath of Uncas stroking her ear as his deep voice explained the drum signified the beat of mother earth. The touch of his hand as he passed her the venison he had lopped off especially for her. The satisfied look in his dark eyes as he watched her eat and the glance of approval from his father afterwards.

Another memory popped up. It was of Chingachgook handing her his water gourd and letting her drink while she was lying wounded on their makeshift stretcher. Although his face had shown no emotion at the time, his hands had been gentle. And then it struck her. He would have never allowed that brutal man endangering her with the serpent if it did not serve a character building purpose, although exactly which still eluded her. She thought about Uncas, subjected to a similar life lesson and nearly broke into hysterical giggles. Picturing the audacious warrior into the boy he once must have been was beyond her scope of imagination. Neither was she able to oversee what he and his father actually meant to her, but for becoming aware she did not want to leave them. Or them to leave her. In the short time she had been staying at the Indian camp it had become a temporary home she was not ready to give up, nor could all the odious animals in this world make her.

She looked around. It was as though a veil had been removed and she realized her feet had carried her to the river where she and Imala sometimes used to wash themselves, only farther upstream. The water gushing down abundantly lacked its common clearness, which she blamed on last night's heavy showers. Other evidence of the storm caught her attention; Tiny mudslides covering the slope. Branches in full foliage lying on the ground. She looked up to see the green canopy fiercely swaying against the overcast sky. Apparently, the storm had ousted the atmosphere's stuffiness. Even in this sheltered corner, the wind got hold of her hair and contrived to blow it into all directions and she tried to retain it again.

She sighed as that morning's episode resumed her thoughts once more. Until now, she had been doing so fine in camp. She got along with most of the natives and they seemed to like her, especially the children. Learning their language was quite a challenge, but even this barrier was being reduced bit by bit, which she had Imala to thank for.

On second thought, she was glad Uncas had not been present during her pathetic performance, although he undoubtedly would have been told by now. She stroked the bandage around her hand. Sooner or later, he always seemed to learn about her stupidities, whereas she wanted to appear strong and confident. She wanted her sister to be proud of her when she returned. Show her all the things she had learned in her absence. No, that was not entirely true. She wanted _him_ to be proud. She did not know why it mattered so much, only that it did. Perhaps it was the fact he always treated her like a child, that made it so. A child who needed constant care, instead of the woman she had become of late. Had last night not proven so? That was why she had kept her distance in the Long House, to let him know she could cope, that was, until the storm had undermined her vigor unscrupulously. She blushed at the way she had leaped upon him and covered her face with both hands, as if shielding the trees from her shame. How could his comfort feel so good and go against everything she had been taught at the same time? She did not understand, but for knowing her behavior justified severe reproof and an uneasy part of her was glad Cora was not present to administer it to her.

For a moment, she pushed her fingers into her eyes, pressing them tightly until it ached. Then she spread her hands and peered down through her fingers. Strange geometric patterns swirled in front of her dress. She tried to grasp them, but they dissolved into air and instead her hands reached the soft fabric. Rumples and folds ruthlessly erased yesterday's newness. She got up, slightly wavering as her feet sunk in the thick layers of moss and started smoothing the animal hide with both hands, succeeding partially.

She knew she ultimately would have to swallow her pride and face Uncas and the others before they came looking for her, which would be even more embarrassing. Bathing would be a welcome diversion and she addressed herself to the task of cleaning up and getting a grip on herself before heading back to camp.


End file.
